Making Do
by Gwdihw
Summary: Jimmy is sexually frustrated and looks to Mr Barrow for help. Not that it means anything, of course, because Jimmy's not like that. He's a real man. Written after S4E6. Smut, obviously. Warning for mention of death.
1. Chapter 1

Jimmy stood smoking and brooding in the courtyard.

Women were so damn difficult! God, he hadn't even wanted to do everything with Ivy - the very thought sent an illicit flush of heat racing over his skin. No, he had just wanted to, you know, _touch_ her and maybe, maybe if that went well, he would asked her to touch him.

That was all. That didn't seem much to ask to Jimmy.

Now, however, she was acting as though he didn't exist, which he was fairly certain he didn't deserve. His frown deepened as he sucked in another smoky breath from the cigarette.

The back door swung open and Jimmy automatically stiffened lest it be Mr Carson - it wasn't, only Mr Barrow, and Jimmy relaxed again.

'Well, haven't you got a face as black as thunder,' Mr Barrow said with a raised eyebrow.

Jimmy shrugged and exhaled sharply. 'Ivy. She's angry with me. Says I treated her in an ungentlemanly way.'

'And did you?' Mr Barrow asked, his voice absolutely straining under the effort to sound casual. He took out a cigarette and lit it, taking a drag then leaving his arm dangle gracefully by his side. Everything the man did was purposeful and elegant thanks to his years as a footman, of having to act as though he was just some other beautiful and perfect trinket the family owned. It was a poise than Jimmy was trying to master but had yet to make second-nature like Mr Barrow.

'Well, maybe a little. I didn't mean her no harm, just-' he sighed. 'I mean I'm a bloke, so of course I'm going to want to...' he trailed off and shot Mr Barrow a furtive look, uncertain of this ground. Did he need to explain what he wanted?

'Oh, I understand,' Mr Barrow reassured him dryly. 'The specifics may be different, but desire is still desire.'

'Right,' Jimmy agreed. 'And, to be honest, I'm more put out over the fact that I didn't get anything than losing Ivy.'

'In which case, she's probably better off without you. To be honest,' Mr Barrow added. Jimmy had to smile at that.

He had been so sure that he was going to get more than a few insipid kisses. Was he really supposed to wait until marriage for that? He wasn't ready to be tied down, that was certain, but he didn't want to have to keep seeing to himself either.

He cast a sideways look at Mr Barrow who was staring into the mid-distance, evidently deep in thought. Now, Jimmy wasn't that way inclined, not at all, but- well, toffs did it all the time, didn't they? In those public school and universities they were all over each other. They had no choice; there weren't any girls about so they had to make do. Natural, it was.

Jimmy's spirits perked up. It wasn't his fault that the only decent-looking girl was a frigid old prude who just wanted a ring on her finger. That couldn't be helped. So he couldn't be blamed, really, if he found an alternative outlet for his natural urges. It wouldn't make him any less of a man.

He looked again at Mr Barrow. His hand holding the cigarette, the good one, looked soft and tender, more like a woman's hand, really. With his eyes closed, he mightn't be able to tell the difference.

'Do you have some sort of burning question, Jimmy?' Mr Barrow asked him, languidly tapping the ash off his cigarette. 'You keep staring at me.'

Jimmy felt himself flush red and quickly looked to the ground. There was him thinking he was being discreet.

'Just, just thinking,' Jimmy said, trying to sound nonchalant, 'that I hear that chaps help each other out sometimes - they lend each other a hand.' Jimmy winced at the crudeness of the sentence. It had however allowed him to communicate his point; Mr Barrow's whole frame turned to face Jimmy.

The comfortable silence between them had frozen solid; Jimmy could barely breathe in that air. He kept expecting Mr Barrow to say something but the older man merely stared, his expression unreadable apart from a slight widening of the eyes.

The awkwardness of the situation was getting unbearable, so Jimmy cleared his throat: 'I mean, it doesn't look like I'm going to have a woman any time soon so-'

Mr Barrow's impassive expression changed to amusement. 'God, you really know how to charm a bloke!'

Jimmy's cheeks burned angrily. 'I'm not trying to _charm_ you!'

'I'll say!'

'I don't want anything prissy or romantic. I'm not like that. I just want some damned relief!'

'Now, now, there's no need for language,' Mr Barrow said but his eyes still had a glint of maddening amusement in them which Jimmy found infuriating. Was he being laughed at? By a man like that?

He stabbed his cigarette out on the brick wall and started to head inside but Mr Barrow gently caught his wrist. It sent an unexpected frisson of heat racing through Jimmy's skin. Mr Barrow hadn't touched him since that incident – _had it really been nearly two years?_ he thought with a sudden jolt in his stomach. Two years was a long time.

'Don't go running off just like that,' Mr Barrow said. 'I want to hear precisely what you have in mind.'

Was he being serious? People didn't talk about things like this, surely? There were just nods and winks and understandings. Then again, given their past predicament, perhaps it _was_ better than everything be explicitly spelled out.

'You, you know,' Jimmy said in a slightly strangled voice. Mr Barrow simply raised an inquisitive eyebrow. 'Your- _your hand_,' he said in an urgent whisper.

'My hand where exactly?' Mr Barrow enquired, also in a whisper. His hand was currently still wrapped around Jimmy's wrist. Such a simple touch on Jimmy's starved body was distracting.

'On my- well, where do you think?'

'Oh, I can think of a few places,' Mr Barrow said with indecent delight.

'That's disgusting,' Jimmy spat after his brain had slowly teased meaning out of Mr Barrow's words.

'I _am_ sorry, Jimmy,' Mr Barrow said with dubious sincerity. Jimmy was placated somewhat by how gently his name was said, as though it were being taken care of by Mr Barrow. He relaxed infinitesimally.

'So, what do you say?'

Mr Barrow didn't say anything; he stubbed out his cigarette and took Jimmy's hand and leading him around the corner where they were unlikely to be disturbed, ignoring the footman's protests.

'If you want me to hold your cock, you can bloody well let me hold your hand,' Mr Barrow told him firmly, pressing Jimmy against the brick wall. It was cold and rough against Jimmy's back.

Jimmy had nothing to say to that except: 'There's no need for language.'

Flashing him grin, Mr Barrow's rested his hand on Jimmy's hip.

'Do you want me to touch you?'

Jimmy nodded fervently but Mr Barrow didn't move. A verbal answer was needed.

'Yes,' Jimmy whispered.

Mr Barrow's hand moved excruciatingly slowly to hover over the front of Jimmy's trousers, centimetres from touching. The almost-touching, the knowledge that those long, soft fingers were agonisingly close sparked a stirring in Jimmy's trousers. Mr Barrow leaned in to whisper in his ear and Jimmy noticed the older man's scent for the first time: smoke and pomade and soap and, underneath everything, the smell of hot skin against a cold night.

'Here?' Mr Barrow asked, his fingers waiting for acquiescence.

'Yes.'

That long hand stroked the front of Jimmy's trousers, pressing hard into the fabric, and Jimmy noted with quiet amazement that his cock hardened almost immediately. Not that he ever had problems getting it up – it just took a bit of time, no matter how many times he pictured girls' hands and pretty mouths tending to him while he clutched their naked breasts. Of course, he'd never actually had the opportunity to do that with a woman, so obviously he wasn't imagining it right.

Still, this felt ridiculously good; each long stroke which traced from his balls to his navel sending an agonising wave of pleasure to his core.

Jimmy wanted to shove Mr Barrow's hand down his trousers and force his fingers around his shaft – the thought of which alone nearly caused him to moan – but he couldn't bring himself to seem that eager.

He dared to glance up to Mr Barrow's face – there was amusement and desire in his eyes. Jimmy looked away quickly.

'What do you want me to do now?' Mr Barrow asked, leaning in again to Jimmy's ear, closer this time, so that the ghost of his breath tickled Jimmy's cheek. What would it feel like to have those lips kiss him there, for Mr Barrow to suck on his earlobe?

'Well, what do you think?' Jimmy said, trying to sound detached and in control and pretending he didn't notice that his voice was shaking. 'Unbutton my trousers.'

Mr Barrow's head was still to his left and Jimmy didn't dare look, but he could see half a smirk out of the corner of his eye. Jimmy closed his eyes as Mr Barrow's expert hands undid the front of Jimmy's trousers and his right snaked downwards.

Mr Barrow was certainly skilled, settling into a hard, merciless rhythm. Jimmy raised his hand instinctively to his mouth to bite on, choking back a groan of pleasure. God, that hand felt good, knowing what he wanted more than Jimmy did himself, rubbing against the sensitive underside of his cock so that Jimmy shook, heat building steadily in his groin. He wouldn't last long, not like this, he realised, fighting the urge to put his hand in Mr Barrow's hair.

Mr Barrow's hand stopped its ministrations suddenly, much to Jimmy's anguish. Was he going to be left like this? That would be too cruel a trick, even for Mr Barrow.

'Open your eyes,' the older man whispered in Jimmy's ear. Jimmy peeked suspiciously.

'What? Why have you stopped?'

'I want you to look at me.'

Jimmy reluctantly made eye-contact. It was far too intimate for his liking, seeing those hazy grey irises boring into him. It was too real, almost threatening – this was no dream, another man was actually pleasuring him. Yet, when Mr Barrow started to move his hand again, his fingertips caressing the veins and his palm pressing into Jimmy's damp head, Jimmy found the intimacy almost exhilarating.

Mr Barrow insisted on maintaining eye-contact until the end; every time Jimmy squeezed his eyes tight as the pleasure got too much, Mr Barrow would stop instantly. When Jimmy came it was hard, explosive, and the fact that he was forced to do so with Mr Barrow's eyes boring into him made him feel more exposed that he had ever done in his life. He dug his fingers into the brick and whimpered.

Mr Barrow smirked and took away his hand, which was now covered in Jimmy. He stepped back and Jimmy noticed for the first time that Mr Barrow's trousers were straining to contain his erection. Jimmy wondered awkwardly whether he ought to offer to see to it – the thought was disturbing – I mean, he was only doing this to get it out of his system, but Mr Barrow would see it as something more, something romantic, maybe.

Before Jimmy could say anything (not that he was sure what he would have said given the chance) Mr Barrow nodded politely to him and walked away, although admittedly not as smoothly as he usually walked.

Jimmy stayed there for a minute, trying to gather the strength to move, his body still tingling.


	2. Chapter 2

It was one o'clock in the morning and Jimmy was in the boot room, gasping as Mr Barrow sucked on his cock. The under butler's tongue probed his slit gently and Jimmy hissed, forcing himself to keep his eyes open, forcing himself to look down at Mr Barrow. The rules were the same – no eye contact, no cock contact.

It was a position that Jimmy had always assumed to be demeaning but there was nothing about the situation which lowered Mr Barrow – in fact, it was Jimmy who was powerless, his body a puppet under the expertise of the older man. Jimmy visualised all the other men that Mr Barrow must have honed his skills on: he saw long legs and tight buttocks, dishevelled hair and muscular backs under the flickering of candlelight, but never faces.

Moaning, Jimmy tried to buck his hips forward but Mr Barrow had him pinned down with surprising strength. Jimmy had never realised how strong Mr Barrow was until that moment – why, he could easily overpower Jimmy if he wanted, flip him over and enter him, burying himself slowly in Jimmy's flesh until he felt the older man's stomach pressing on his back.

_Why are you thinking about that?_ he demanded his brain sternly. _And more importantly: __**why are you getting excited at the thought!**_

Still, no matter how hard Jimmy got, how close he felt to the edge of oblivion, Mr Barrow never let him come that easily.

'Don't slow down, Mr Barrow, please!' Jimmy urged, squirming against those hands. Mr Barrow started to massage circles into Jimmy's hip with his thumb but didn't relax his hold.

Jimmy could have cried when the under butler withdrew, taking the magnificent heat of his mouth away and leaving Jimmy's cock jutting out awkwardly, coated with saliva.

'Beg me,' Mr Barrow said softly.

It was strange how in the past couple of weeks Jimmy's embarrassment regarding enunciating exactly what he wanted had vanished.

'Please, Mr Barrow, I'm begging you to finish me off, please – I need this – I need your mouth around my cock – please let me come!'

Mr Barrow smirked. 'Well, seeing as you're such a nice, polite young man!'

'Oh dear God,' Jimmy choked as Mr Barrow took him in his mouth again, all the way in so that Jimmy was touching the back of his throat. It took seconds before Jimmy was shaking, clutching Mr Barrow's shoulders for dear life and emptying himself down that creamy, white throat. Jimmy could see Mr Barrow's Adam's apple rise and fall gently as he swallowed.

Mr Barrow stood up, tenderness battling with self-satisfaction in his eyes, and Jimmy pointedly looked away.

'Goodnight,' Mr Barrow said. 'I'm sure you'll sleep well after that.' He chastely kissed Jimmy on the cheek before leaving the room.

It had been a very strange fortnight, Jimmy mused.

Two weeks.

Five encounters.

Four hand jobs.

One spectacular blow job.

One handholding.

One kiss on the cheek.

One kiss on the forehead.

Zero kisses on the lips.

Zero orgasms for Mr Barrow.

Jimmy wondered if the under butler brought himself off afterwards, thinking of Jimmy. Probably, seeing as he was always hard by the time he was done with the footman. The last time, during the fourth encounter, Jimmy had accidentally brushed against Mr Barrow's groin and felt his hardness against his stomach. Mr Barrow had immediately stepped back half a foot, holding his body away from Jimmy.

It was though he was protecting himself from Jimmy.

_But protecting himself from what?_ What could Jimmy possibly do to Mr Barrow?

As Mr Barrow had predicted, Jimmy was asleep as soon as he lay down and, seconds later, being woken by a rap on his bedroom door as the hall boy woke the rest of the male servants up.

Jimmy had mixed feelings about his job. He liked the fact that it was relatively easy, he liked the fact that he looked good – he was pretty sure that his long tails were the only thing which stopped the ladies checking out his arse – and he liked the social aspect of being a servant in a large house. What he didn't like was being a servant – or how boring his life often felt.

Polishing the silver, serving dinner and other mindless tasks gave him plenty of time to fantasise. He was Valentino, he was Fairbanks, he was Haines, starring alongside a dark-haired beauty with bee-stung lips. That was his destiny – even the Dowager had said that he looked like he ought to be on the stage and she was never wrong.

_Honestly, Ivy must be blind as well as stupid if she thought that Valentino was 'slithery'! _Jimmy thought absently as he cleaned the candleholder roughly.

'What are you smiling about?' Mrs Bates asked him suspiciously from the other side of the table where she was polishing Lady Mary's boots.

'Nothing,' Jimmy said quickly. He had a right to let his mind wander, didn't he? Although, to be honest, his mind was wandering to different places recently. He still daydreamed about a starring role in a Hollywood production, but he was also thinking of other things… He was spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about sex, if he was honest with himself. Or, if he was really honest with himself, it wasn't sex exactly, it was other things.

He spent an obscene amount of time wondering when he would be alone with Mr Barrow next and what fresh delights the under butler would unleash on him.

He thought that he had a chance that afternoon. During that soft lull around three o'clock when he found himself with a bit of time free, he spotted Mr Barrow in the servants' hall through the crack in the door. However, as he got closer, he heard another voice, Miss Baxter's.

Jimmy frowned. It had been clear from the start that Miss Baxter and Mr Barrow had known each other before she'd arrived here, but Jimmy was surprised at the easy candour with which they spoke to each other.

'Remember what you owe me,' Mr Barrow said. 'Remember your promise.'

'As though I could forget, Tommy,' Miss Baxter replied evenly.

Tommy? What? What did she just call Mr Barrow? Jimmy felt a sudden and unexpected jolt of jealousy at the obvious closeness between them. Who on earth was this Miss Baxter and how was she on first name basis with his Mr Barrow?

Jimmy slunk away, pondering, but was rudely snatched out of his thoughts by Mr Carson barking that the Dowager had arrived and he was to serve tea.

_A.N. I think it's a tiny bit early for William Haines to be well known but I couldn't resist dropping his name in as an actor Jimmy admired!_


	3. Chapter 3

Mr Barrow was going to America and Jimmy was jealous. Suppose Mr Barrow met a film star out there? That was unlikely. Suppose he met a dashing sailor aboard the ship? That _wasn't_ unlikely.

Jimmy took a seat as Mr Barrow packed. The last time they were in this room, Mr Barrow had had Jimmy's balls in his mouth. It was an awfully distracting thought.

'I wish it were me,' Jimmy said, watching Mr Barrow. He could barely imagine such an adventure! Walking down the streets of New York, seeing a Broadway production, visiting the Statue of Liberty!

'Wouldn't you miss Ivy?'

Who?

Oh, yeah – what did Mr Barrow mean by that? Why would he miss Ivy?

'Nothing's going to come of that. It were a waste of money and effort,' Jimmy reminded. Still, it was good to know that Mr Barrow wasn't taking their arrangement too seriously. He worried sometimes.

'I'm sure something's just around the corner,' Mr Barrow said, his back to Jimmy.

'I wish it would get a move on or I might do something stupid,' Jimmy joked.

'Well, when I get back I want to find you healthy and happy and courting a girl from the village.' Oh. That was sweet of him, even if it made Jimmy's stomach squirm for some reason. He was in no hurry to find some girl from the village; he wasn't ready to settle down and his current situation was just fine.

Mr Barrow flashed him a smile and Jimmy wished that there they had an extra ten minutes before going up. He also wondered whether, if he curled up extra small, he could fit in Mr Barrow's suitcase.

In the first week Jimmy discovered how unpleasant it was to have regular physical contact with another human being suddenly stopped. He felt as though he were constantly walking beneath a red haze of lust. Every word that anyone said was instantly construed as an innuendo and anything remotely cylindrical became suggestive in Jimmy's eyes. He gazed at the courgettes wistfully before Ivy started slicing them up.

He was never going to last. But what alternative did he have? Could he maybe go down the pub and meet someone? No, the risk of it getting back to Downton was too great. Perhaps he could go into Ripon or Thirsk on his next half day?

But where would he go? The irony was that Mr Barrow could probably tell him some excellent places to go – but if Mr Barrow were there, he wouldn't need to.

When Jimmy's next half day rolled around, he took the bus to York, thinking that he might find something more easily in an actual city. When he arrived, however, he still wasn't sure where to go.

He eventually meandered over to a brothel that he's heard about from the lads down the pub, thinking they might cater for a variety of tastes and feeling slightly more at ease if he were in control of the situation. After all, Mr Barrow was one thing, he _knew_ the man, but soliciting with a complete stranger was a bit more nerve-racking.

Now that he was standing outside the shabby building, which seemed to be trying to hide in the shadows, he was having second thoughts. Telling himself that he'd come all this way, he forced himself to knock on the door.

It was answered by a young, curvy girl of around sixteen; she had a not inconsiderable amount of flesh on display and her wild blond ringlets were pulled back in a red ribbon which matched her lips. Her cheeks dimpled when she smiled.

'Well, look at you, handsome!' She turned and yelled over her shoulders. 'You're in for a treat today, girls!'

Jimmy found himself led inside into a parlour which could not have been in sharper contrast to the outward façade: it was lush, opulent and decorated in carnal shades of red and pink. He wasn't sure if it was his cup of tea, but it certainly set the mood. A gaggle of women trussed up and batting their eyelashes at him were draped over most of the furniture.

'Well, what would you like, young sir?' the girl who'd answered the door asked him coyly. 'We've got plenty of choice – we've got blond girls, dark girls, fiery red-heads – we've got Asha from the Ethiop if you want something more exotic-'

'Becky, I'm from Dagenham,' the black girl snapped in a strong cockney accent.

'We've got skinny girls, big girls,' Becky continued as though she hadn't heard anything. 'I'm the youngest and Charlotte's thirty-five if you fancy a mature woman!' Becky pouted at him as though hoping that she would be chosen.

Jimmy's mouth felt very dry. He wasn't usually out of his comfort zone but right at that moment he was most definitely not comfortable.

'I- I was just wondering if you had any, er, any – you know what, never mind!' Jimmy muttered, feeling his face burn.

The prostitutes all started cooing over him like mother hens.

'Oh, poor thing, he's so_ nervous_!' one of them said, patting his hand.

'I suppose you're looking for something other than _girls_?' Becky said, winking at him naughtily.

Jimmy nodded at the ground.

'Say no more, sonny Jim!' Becky said cheerfully, taking his hand and leading him to another room. He felt the girls' eyes follow him as he left and was a little pleased when one of them said, not bothering to keep her voice down: 'why do the attractive ones always play for the other side?'

Becky led him to another room with six men sitting around a table.

'Gentlemen,' she announced. Jimmy felt himself being eaten alive by eyes.

'Well,' Becky whispered in his ear after she had introduced them. 'Who would you like?'

Jimmy stared at each of them, appraising and trying to imagine what half an hour with one might be like.

Peter, tall and muscular with very short hair, looked like a manual worker. He had a sweet face but Jimmy found the man's stature a little too daunting.

Terence seemed to be the youngest. Jimmy doubted he was eighteen. He was auburn, extremely thin and pouty with hooded eyes and Jimmy noticed that his high cheeks were rouged. He was holding hands with Michael, who was fair-haired and also very feminine.

Will was dark-haired and cheeky-looking, winking at Jimmy when their eyes met.

Simon was older, maybe forty, but with a rugged, stubbly handsomeness. He looked like he might be prone to poetic brooding.

Theo sat at the back, cross-legged, his light brown ringlets falling into his eyes. His hands lay on his lap, palms up, wrists exposed.

'Theo,' Jimmy eventually said very quietly. The man in question stood up and smirked.

'Lucky me,' he said huskily, eyeing Jimmy up and down.

After taking Jimmy's payment, Becky took them to a bedroom.

'Have fun, boys,' she told them before shutting the door.

Up close, Theo was even more handsome than Jimmy had first thought, a veritable angel with sea-green eyes and lightly-freckled skin.

'What would you like, sir?' Theo asked, looking subdued, holding his head a little to the aside to expose his neck. It dawned on Jimmy suddenly that a man so pretty was probably used to being chosen by a certain type of customer: a dominant male. Jimmy wasn't sure he could play that role – he didn't have a clue as to what he was doing, for one! Perhaps he should have gone with the one who looked like a builder.

'I- I don't know,' Jimmy finally stammered. Theo looked up at him curiously from under his impossibly long lashes.

'Is this your first time, sir?'

Jimmy nodded.

Theo smiled at him, softening his expression; he lifted his hand to caress Jimmy's cheek. Jimmy jerked back automatically, not used to being touched romantically. He wasn't looking for that. Maybe he should just tell the guy to suck his cock.

'Do you want to talk for a bit first?' Theo suggested. 'We're not in a rush – we don't generally have many customers at this time of day.'

'Okay,' Jimmy agreed, sitting down gingerly on the side of the bed.

'I'm Jimmy, by the way,' Jimmy blurted out.

Theo smiled. 'Not many customers tell us names.'

'Oh. Sorry.'

'You've not done anything wrong, pet,' Theo murmured, stroking Jimmy's face again. Jimmy found he didn't mind it so much. The hand dropped a little, trailing gracefully down Jimmy's neck and scaling his collarbone. It felt good.

'What's such a gorgeous creature as you doing in a place like this?' Theo crooned, his fingers crawling up the back of Jimmy's neck and into his hair.

'I could ask you the same thing,' Jimmy pointed out.

Theo laughed without self-pity. 'Down on my luck, pet.' He crawled on to the bed, graceful like a cat, and kneeling behind Jimmy started to massage his shoulders. 'What do you do?'

'I'm a footman,' Jimmy tells him, relaxing under Theo's gentle hands.

'I bet you're a stunner in tails!' Jimmy could feel the other man's smirk on his neck. The hushed whisper of his breath. 'What do you want me to call you? What do you want me to be whimpering later?'

'My name's fine,' Jimmy said, swallowing. He was starting to get hard; he wasn't sure whether it was the massage, the prospect of Theo whimpering his name or the fact that he had started to lick Jimmy's earlobe.

'I don't really want to be a footman, though, I want to be on stage in the West End.'

What? _What _had he just said? He'd never told anyone that before and now he was blabbing his mouth off to a complete stranger! Perhaps it was the comfort of knowing that whatever happened in this room would certainly stay in this room.

'Ah, a musical theatre man – a bit of a cliché, are we?'

'Mm,' Jimmy said. He wanted to correct Theo, saying that he wasn't really homosexual, but the delicious young prostitute had slipped his hands up Jimmy's shirt and was continuing the massage on his nipples. It made a coherent argument rather difficult.

'Is that nice, Jimmy?'

'Yes.'

'Shall I undress you now?' Theo purred. Jimmy could only nod.

Theo stood in front of Jimmy and, with both hands, pulled the footman to his feet. He unbuttoned Jimmy's shirt deftly and spread it open, admiring the landscape of Jimmy's skin.

'Oh, look at you!' Theo said, his hands falling to Jimmy's stomach, dancing around his navel.

'Am I – do you want – ' Jimmy asked, indicating towards Theo's clothes.

'Entirely up to you.'

Jimmy nodded and Theo took off his own shirt. Jimmy stared. It wasn't the first time he had seen another man's bare chest but it was the first time he had allowed himself to look, properly look.

Theo was paler and thinner than he'd expected, causing Jimmy to wonder how well they ate at the brothel, but he still had a pleasing tapering upside-down-triangle shape. Instinctively, Jimmy put his hands on Theo's waist and pulled the two of them together, relishing the contact of their bare skin and Theo's groin pressing on his own.

Theo's nimble hands got everywhere and Jimmy was soon surprised to find himself naked, trembling in front of Theo.

He started stroking Jimmy's arse, sending fascinating tingles along it, and Jimmy inhaled sharply when Theo's fingers rubbed Jimmy's cleft. The man smiled, resting his forehead on Jimmy's shoulder and rolling his head to one side so that his neck was on display again, long and stark white like that of a Victorian lady. Jimmy knew it was all part of the act he was paying for but Theo seemed so delicate and vulnerable.

'Would you like to take me now?' Theo whispered, turning around and pressing his pert bum onto Jimmy's erection.

'I suppose so,' Jimmy said nervously. 'I mean, I've not done that before – I've done other stuff with a bloke from work but not _that_…' he trailed off, feeling like a bit of a plonker.

'I'll guide you, pet,' Theo reassured, taking a pot of something from the dresser. Jimmy watched in fascination as Theo lathered his fingers generously and shoved them inside himself – the man's face twitched a little as he wriggled his hand about.

'Here,' he said, returning to his position, reaching behind and grabbing Jimmy's cock in one hand and his arse cheek in the other, pulling him forward.

It was unlike anything Jimmy could have imagined – Theo's tight heat was squeezing his cock, white light bursting behind his eyes. Jimmy groaned and moved, pulling back and thrusting forward gently, his hands firm on Theo's waist.

Jimmy rested his chin on Theo's shoulder and stared down at his body as he fucked him as slowly as he could – he was afraid that if he moved even slightly faster he would explode. The sight was Theo's sinewy body and his undeniable erection threatened to finish Jimmy – that couldn't be an act, that was real, he was making Theo hard! Jimmy snaked one hand forward and tugged at Theo's cock, softly and experimentally at first, then harder, much as he would do to himself.

'Well, aren't you the considerate one,' Theo gasped, letting his head fall back against Jimmy's neck. He spurted out a string of white seed seconds before Jimmy came himself, biting into Theo's shoulder to stop himself crying out.

Theo dressed before he had even regained his breath, which Jimmy found odd; it brought the reality of the situation back to him. Still, Theo was warm towards him, if more professional now.

'Feel free to come back any time, pet,' he said with a wink as Jimmy tied his tie. 'Not that I can imagine why anyone as handsome as you would need to come here!'

'It's been lovely,' Jimmy said with an awkward smile. It had certainly been an experience.

'Doing anything nice for the rest of the day?' Theo asked casually as he led him to the door, making conversation.

'I need to be getting back to Downton,' Jimmy said without thinking.

'Downton Abbey?' Theo said. 'Oh, I suppose you must know Thomas Barrow?' He opened the front door and smiled at Jimmy as though he had not just said something Earth-shattering.


	4. Chapter 4

'You must know Thomas Barrow.'

Jimmy could only stare at him, a strange medley of emotions bubbling in his brain.

'I know Mr Barrow, yes,' Jimmy finally managed to say.

'Oh, he's _Mr Barrow_ now, is he? I bet that pleases him no end!' Theo leant against the door frame, shaking his head affectionately. 'I suppose I should have realised – he said he'd been made an under butler. I never considered that that would mean a change of how he was addressed.'

It was unnerving to hear him talk like that – as though he and Mr Barrow had a relationship, that they shared a secret communication. Had Mr Barrow come here often? Had he poured himself, sweating and moaning, into every crevice that Theo had to offer? Into the other men here?

_He was thinking of me the whole time?_ Jimmy thought savagely, stopping himself from shouting it at Theo. _You never had him, not really! His heart has always been mine!_

Theo's quick eyes ran across Jimmy's face and frowned. Jimmy knew that he was useless at masking his own emotion and he had a fair idea of what Theo read in his expression.

'I suppose I can presume that Mr Barrow is the 'bloke from work' of whom you spoke?' Theo's voice sounded different: not upper class exactly, but more polished and precise than most people Jimmy knew.

'Well, I suppose there's no need to ask how _you_ know him!' Jimmy retorted, blushing.

'No? Have you got all the answers, Jimmy?' He paused and crossed his arms. 'Not that it concerns you in any way, but Thomas and I fought together in the war. We were both in the Med Corps and we've kept in touch since. So many of us didn't come back from France that it seems important to keep track of those who did.' A flicker of sadness passed through Theo's eyes and Jimmy knew that he was there again – amongst the rifles and the bombs and the tanks and the gas which seeped out of nowhere. Jimmy remembered it, too.

'Has he come here?' Jimmy asked. His voice was light and breezy, he swore it was breezy. He even shrugged his shoulders dramatically to prove how much he didn't care.

Theo's eyes cooled, an elegant eyebrow raising itself sarcastically.

'You would judge him?' He laughed and Jimmy felt pathetic. 'As a matter of fact, no. We were romantically involved during the war, which is as much detail as I care to give you, but he's never paid me for sex. Does that make you feel better or worse?'

'I'm not sure.'

'Well, if that's all, I think it's best that you leave. Madam wouldn't like it if I stayed outside all day talking when there are more profitable acts for my tongue to be engaged in.'

Jimmy nodded at the floor. Before Theo went inside, Jimmy blurted out: 'You speak like you've got an education.'

'Yes. Grammar school does that to you.'

There were a thousand questions that Jimmy wanted to ask but he had no right. He mumbled a 'sorry' and walked away, hearing the brothel door slam shut.

Jimmy didn't feel like going home just yet. For one thing, he knew that his head was all tangled up with painful things and that was sure to show on his face. Someone would cotton on to something.

He sat on a bench in the park, staring at nothing.

To think that a man who had fought in battle was reduced to selling his body! Jimmy knew that many men had difficulty finding work after the war but he'd always done his best not to think about it; _he_ had been lucky and that was the important thing. Lady Anstruther, that kind and foolish woman, had kept his job safe while he was at the front and he'd not suffered any injuries, or at least not any visible ones. There were the nightmares, of course, but who didn't have them? The important thing was not to talk about it – to pretend that a generation of young men weren't haunted by dead comrades and murdered friends.

Jimmy shook his head and forced himself to think of happy things; he'd thought too much of war for one lifetime. Besides, he needed to make a start for home.

Theo had at least given Jimmy something to think about, some fantasies for the bus ride home. Jimmy did notice however that, as exquisitely sexy as Theo was, his thoughts kept straying to Mr Barrow. He would remember being inside Theo and he'd imagine what it would be like with Mr Barrow. The two men were not easily interchangeable; Mr Barrow was at least a foot taller, much broader and stronger – it would feel completely different for Jimmy to wrap his arms around his waist.

Jimmy got back in time for dinner, which was fortunate – he felt hungry enough to eat a whole cow.

'Slow down, James, you'll make yourself ill,' Mrs Hughes admonished him and Jimmy attempted to chew his food properly.

'He's just admiring my cooking,' Mrs Patmore said. 'There's nothing wrong with that. His Lordship and Mr Barrow aren't getting proper food like this in America, I can tell you that!' Jimmy noticed that she said 'America' with a vague uneasiness and rolled his eyes; he also noticed a sharp jolt in his stomach at the mention of Mr Barrow's name.

God, it felt like a lifetime ago that Mr Barrow was there. Jimmy was worried that if he were gone any longer, he would start forgetting what he looked like, that his fantasies would lose their crystal-sharp clarity.

Jimmy tossed and turned that night. He'd touched himself; rather he'd dragged himself ruthlessly to a climax in order to tempt sleep and provide satisfaction but he was aware that that wasn't the sort of satisfaction he was looking for; there was some deeper need that he'd never felt before and he didn't understand what it was.

At about two in the morning Jimmy got out of bed, painfully restless, and wandered along the corridors and into Mr Barrow's room, careful not to make a sound.

He closed the door behind him and lit the lamp on the bedside table, bathing the room in a warm glow. The room was no different to that of any other servant at first glance, but the longer Jimmy looked, the more touches of Mr Barrow Jimmy was able to make out. Little things: the bottle of cologne on the side, a fedora on a chair, a couple of books on the shelf, a picture of what was presumably Mr Barrow's family.

Mr Barrow looked about five in the photo but Jimmy spotted him straight away – even at that age, he looked as though he owned the world. He seemed to be the youngest of six siblings, all pale and dark-haired, who were standing in front of their parents. The couple had a warmth in their eyes in spite of the solemnity that taking a photograph required, although, at around fifty, they seemed quite old to have such a young child – they would probably be dead by now. Perhaps that was why Mr Barrow said he was alone.

Jimmy finally wandered over to the bed, the part of the room he had deliberately saved for last. Mr Barrow's scent lingered all over it. The pillow and the sheets smelled invitingly like him, conjuring up a face which smirked at the world but melted into a softer expression whenever it saw Jimmy. He lay down and inhaled as deeply as he could, pulling the pillow towards his chest and hugging it tight.


	5. Chapter 5

Jimmy woke up feeling wonderfully relaxed and well-rested. It took him a minute to realise why; the small clock on the mantelpiece said it was nine o'clock. Oh good God! Of course, the hall boys wouldn't have knocked this door with Mr Barrow being away!

Jimmy stepped out into the corridor quickly and cast his panicked eyes left and right. The servants' quarters were deserted, of course – everyone had been working for hours by this point. Jimmy closed his eyes and groaned at the amount of trouble he was bound to be in. As quickly as he could, he sprinted back to his room, got dressed and ran downstairs, colliding with Miss Baxter on the stairway.

She looked him up and down with mild amusement. 'Everybody's been looking for you. We thought you'd been stolen by fairies in the night.'

'No, I – I – need to go,' Jimmy said dismissively, pushing past her. She had nonetheless alerted him to the fact that he needed some sort of excuse by the time he faced Mr Carson, and he didn't think the truth would cut the mustard.

Mr Carson, quite predictably, was lobster red by the time he confronted Jimmy, his eyebrows sky-high and furrowed in fury.

'Sleeping walking?' Carson boomed after Jimmy had offered him his flimsy explanation.

'Yes, Mr Carson. It's not troubled me since I was a child but it happened last night. I woke up in a closet on the fourth floor with no idea how I got there.' Jimmy tried to shrug in a way which conveyed both 'I'm sorry,' and 'well, these things happen.'

Mr Carson puffed his chest out like a cockerel but Mrs Hughes cut across him before he could say anything haughty.

'Well, it isn't James' fault that he got lost in his sleep and I'm sure that it's a one-time occurrence, seeing as it hasn't happened before,' she said placatingly.

'Yes, Mrs Hughes,' Jimmy agreed quickly.

Mr Carson scowled but seemed to accept Mrs Hughes' argument; he merely barked at Jimmy to jump to it and help poor Moseley who had picked up the slack for him that morning.

'Where were you then?' Moseley asked when Jimmy arrived to help him with clearing the breakfast things from upstairs.

'Never you mind,' Jimmy muttered. He knew he was being rude but Moseley was so very easy to be rude to.

Moseley annoyingly kept trying to 'make conversation'.

'I don't know why Miss Baxter is friends with Mr Barrow,' Moseley said.

Jimmy wondered whether it would be suspicious if he retorted that his precious Miss Baxter ought to be honoured that Mr Barrow was gracing her with his attention. Best not.

'I mean she's such a kind, warm woman and Mr Barrow is so unlikeable,' Moseley continued in blissful ignorance of the death stare that Jimmy was fixing upon him. Honestly, Jimmy didn't think he'd ever met a more oblivious individual; even though he couldn't know that Jimmy had taken Mr Barrow as a lover (well, sort of), surely he knew that he and Jimmy were friends.

'Then you have very poor taste,' Jimmy said in a tone which he hoped was withering enough. 'You've not been in the house for a while or you'd have noticed that plenty of us like Mr Barrow a lot. He's a wonderful addition to the household.'

Moseley refrained from mentioning his feelings concerning Mr Barrow for the rest of the morning.

Still, Jimmy mused (in between his daydreams of going to New York and making it big in Broadway, and the one where Mr Barrow greeted him with a whole new repertoire of filthy tricks that he had learnt abroad) that the budding friendship between Moseley and Miss Baxter mightn't be a bad thing. Maybe she would tell him how she became such good friends with Mr Barrow and Jimmy could probably extract that information from him quite easily given the amount of time they now spent together.

Jimmy didn't get as much time to ponder that day as he would have liked – there was an unreasonably long list of things to do in order for the bazaar the next day. Jimmy was worked like a slave and felt entirely sorry for himself as he helped set up the tents. Why, at that moment Mr Barrow was probably sipping champagne out of the navel of some actor or dancer! Jimmy quickly wrestled that image out of his mind – it would have been extremely unprofessional to get an erection in front of Lady Grantham and everyone.

'No sleepwalking!' Carson called out sternly when Jimmy finally went to bed.

'No, Mr Carson,' Jimmy said with his best abashed expression.

_What's Mr Barrow doing now?_ Jimmy wondered as he changed into his pyjamas. Going to bed to? Maybe not – Jimmy knew that time was different in America but he had no idea what time it would be. Was it early morning, afternoon or evening? He supposed it didn't really matter.

He imagined seeing Mr Barrow again – he imagined being alone with him – what would they do together?

The memory of Theo gently stroking the sensitive skin between Jimmy's arse cheeks surfaced suddenly – yes that had felt nice, unexpectedly nice – and Theo had certainly seemed to appreciate his own arse being stimulated.

What would that feel like? Maybe he could let Mr Barrow touch him there?

Still, Jimmy reasoned with himself, before doing something with someone else, it was probably best to find out for yourself what something felt like. That way, there were no nasty surprises.

His pulse quickening, he pulled his knees up, his fleet flat on the bed, and reached down to stroke along his entrance. It sent a shiver up his spine; this was wrong, illicit, unnatural, this was asking to be sent straight to hell – and Jimmy couldn't deny that the very 'wrongness' of it made it more exhilarating.

He didn't have any of that stuff that Theo had – he wasn't even sure what that was – so he sucked on his fingers instead, trying to coat them with as much saliva as possible. This time, the little shivers of sensations were stronger thanks to the wetness of his fingers; the smooth, frictionless gliding made him sigh.

Jimmy felt his cock hardening and fought the urge to grab it – that would have been too easy. Curious and a little apprehensive, he slid a finger in.

_Bloody hell, that's a tight squeeze! There's no way I'm going to be able to fit anything bigger than a finger up here! Are people crazy?_

After a minute or so of discomfort as Jimmy wriggled his finger about he realised that, as he slowly relaxed, it might just be possible to fit one more. Cautiously, he pushed a second finger in – and shuddered – the discomfort was greater this time, bordering on pain, but there was also another sensation, an undeniable warmth. Jimmy allowed himself to relax into it, enjoying the odd sensation of being stretched open slowly.

As Jimmy explored inside himself, stroking and prodding, he became aware that _maybe _it was time to add another finger. Swirling around a bit to make sure he had the space, he hit something that made him gasp.

_What's that? _A pinprick of pleasure zapped him unexpectedly. Eagerly, he searched again for it, moving his knees higher up to allow his fingers extra depth.

_Oh good God, there it is!_ Jimmy closed his eyes and caressed that spot deep inside himself which radiated heat to the tips of his toes and fingers, racing straight to his cock which Jimmy suddenly realised was pressed like an iron bar against his belly and leaking helplessly.

Three fingers. He winced – he needed more saliva – he needed to find out what kind of stuff Theo used, but for now his spit would have to do.

_That's better!_ He thrust again and smiled to himself. _Much better!_ His cock throbbed as his fingers twisted and groped desperately. _God, this is too much!_

Unbidden, his imagination summoned Mr Barrow to the room. It was Mr Barrow's fingers buried inside Jimmy. It was Mr Barrow who pulled his fingers out, ignoring Jimmy's protests, and replaced it with his cock. It was Mr Barrow who fucked Jimmy deep and hard, silencing Jimmy's cries as he came with his mouth, kissing him until he was quiet.

Jimmy winced as he pulled his hand out of his arse, his whole body tingling and overly sensitive.

Maybe it was time to drastically re-evaluate everything he thought about himself.


	6. Chapter 6

The bazaar was just as dull as Jimmy had feared. To make it worse, as soon as he tried to take the edge off the tedium with a bit of a drink, Mr Carson appeared and started barking orders. Jimmy was sure that the 'sleep walking incident' was still on his mind.

By far the high point of the day was when Mr Barrow turned up. Everybody celebrated and ran over to the car. Okay, some of the fuss might have been for his Lordship, on second thoughts.

'How was it?' Moseley asked before Jimmy had a chance to speak. Jimmy could have kneed him in the groin.

_I WANTED TO BE THE FIRST TO SPEAK WITH HIM!_

'Very modern and very interesting,' Mr Barrow replied mysteriously – his eyes locked with Jimmy's for a second, sending a frisson of excitement through the footman. If only they didn't have this stupid bazaar to get though before Jimmy could be alone with him!

Jimmy could hardly keep his eyes off Mr Barrow for the rest of the day. America certainly seemed to have agreed with him – he was relaxed and happy. Jimmy wanted to be relaxed and happy, too, and he was pretty sure he knew how to get that way.

So distracted was he by visions of what Mr Barrow would do to him that Jimmy actually lost in a strength contest against Moseley. It would have been humiliating if Jimmy didn't have such important things on his mind, like whether he wanted to be on top or on the bottom first. As it was, it was merely irritating to see Moseley and Baxter exchange loving glances as though they were Romeo and Juliet.

_Yeah, well, we all know how that turned out, don't we!_ Jimmy thought savagely, delighting at the idea of Moseley drinking poison.

To his disappointment, Mr Barrow didn't linger in the servants' hall after dinner, regaling them all with (heavily edited, probably) stories of New York, but excused himself, saying he was tired after a long journey.

'And none of us want to know how you tired yourself out!' Mrs Patmore said, evidently unaware of Mr Carson's deep frown in her direction.

Jimmy hoped that he was lying about being tired and wondered how long he could wait before going to bed and not have it look suspicious.

'You know, Alfred wanted to marry me,' Ivy said, appearing out of thin air and plonking herself down on the chair next to Jimmy.

'Oh, okay,' Jimmy answered, nonplussed. It seemed like a random change from the conversation they were all having about Lady Mary's suitors (Jimmy had a shilling on her marrying Napier, the underdog).

'That's how a real gentleman behaves,' she told Jimmy sternly. 'When he's in love, he proposes!'

Jimmy didn't like to tell her that, as he was currently imagining the finer details of Mr Barrow's cock, he was unlikely to be gentleman material.

'So, I've decided that if you're willing to admit that you were in the wrong and that you'll not try any funny business in the future, I'll give you another chance,' she finished magnanimously.

'God, you took your time to forgive me – it's been weeks!'

'But I_ have_ forgiven you,' she said with an understanding smile, putting her hand on his. Okay, this was quickly becoming awkward.

'Ivy. The thing is, although I'm very fond of you, I think we want different things.' _We're both after a handsome man – okay, maybe we do want the same thing!_ 'I'm not ready to get married.'

She withdrew her hand quickly and looked down. 'My mum was right,' she muttered. 'You really are all the same!' With that, she stormed off dramatically.

Finally, Jimmy thought it was a socially acceptable time to head upstairs. He changed into his pyjamas and, after scanning the corridor fervently, headed over to Mr Barrow's room.

Mr Barrow was tucked up in bed, reading. He raised a curious eyebrow at Jimmy as he entered.

It was strange; Jimmy had not been in this room with Mr Barrow actually in it since the day that Mr Barrow was beaten to a bloody pulp in Jimmy's stead. That had been the moment that Jimmy realised that Mr Barrow loved him. He'd known that Mr Barrow found him attractive, but plenty of people did – it was only when Jimmy saw him covered in cuts and bruises and not the least bit regretful that he realised that he was loved; in spite of everything, it had warmed him.

Jimmy grinned, nearing the bed.

'So, when you say modern and interesting...'

Mr Barrow laughed evilly. 'Oh, the new world is something else! Better than London, and I never thought I'd hear myself say that!'

Jimmy sat down on the bed and drew his legs up underneath himself; Mr Barrow closed his book and put it aside, leaving his hands to rest on his legs.

_I could hold his hand_, Jimmy thought giddily.

'The voyage was _very_ interesting, as well,' Mr Barrow told him. 'All those things that people say about sailors? They're not lying! I had my first _ménage-à-trois_,' he reminisced.

'What, those green things that Alfred likes?'

'No, those are _mangetout_ – easy mistake to make, French is a confusing language,' Mr Barrow said, his eyes lighting up with amusement. Jimmy had the distinct impression that he was being laughed at.

'Okay, so what's a – whatever you called it – then?'

Mr Barrow leaned forward, all mischief and sparkly eyes, and whispered darkly in the shell of Jimmy's ear: '_There were three of us.'_

The bottom of Jimmy's stomach fell out and he found himself unable to answer. Mr Barrow grabbed him under the chin and pulled his face closer, studying Jimmy intensely.

'I've not shocked you, have I?' he demanded.

'No,' Jimmy lied. 'Tell me all about it – how does it work?'

'Well, I was balls-deep in this delightful little red-headed creature when his mate came behind me and started fucking me,' Mr Barrow said as casually as though he were reeling off a shopping list. 'Quite a memorable experience!'

'I'm sure it was,' Jimmy said, deeply shocked but keeping his face steady. To his embarrassment, his cock was starting to stir at the image of the elegant Mr Barrow sandwiched snugly between two rough sailors, his face contorted with pleasure.

Mr Barrow's eyes raked downwards to Jimmy's groin and he smirked; Jimmy's blood flow instantly redirected itself to his cheeks.

As lovely as it was to have Mr Barrow back and as arousing his tales of overseas (and a sea) were, it did chuck a bucket of cold water over Jimmy in the sense that it made him remember the truth. He had romanticised his relationship with Mr Barrow in his absence when in truth what they had was a friendship with some physical benefits. Mr Barrow had got his end away elsewhere and so, Jimmy chided himself, had he – and that was fine. God, they hadn't even kissed, so how could Jimmy have thought of them as lovers?

'What's wrong?' Mr Barrow asked gently, touching Jimmy's upper arm in an attempt to comfort.

'Nothing,' Jimmy responded, smiling, shaking himself roughly out of his rollercoaster of thoughts. 'I'm just insanely jealous. A different fuck every night, that's living the high life!'

Mr Barrow said nothing.

'Why don't you show me what it was like?' he said coyly to Mr Barrow, lowering his eyes.

'What, the threesome?' Mr Barrow asked, looking mildly confused. 'But there are only two of us – are you thinking of roping Alfred in? He might have a heart attack – besides, I'm not particularly eager to see him in the nude.'

'No,' Jimmy whispered huskily (or at least he hoped he sounded husky and not as though he had a throat infection). He pulled himself closer to Mr Barrow until he was almost sitting on his lap. 'But we could do what you were doing to that red-head.'

He put his hand on Mr Barrow's thigh, realising that it was the first time he had initiated contact. To Jimmy's delight, the under butler didn't look nearly as composed as usual – and his pyjama bottoms were far less adept at reining in erections than ordinary trousers.

Jimmy allowed his hand to crawl up Mr Barrow's thigh until it was resting near his groin; the heat of his cock was radiating through the thin cotton. Jimmy looked up to meet Mr Barrow's wide grey eyes and slightly parted mouth.

Quick as a flash, Mr Barrow had risen to his knees and pulled Jimmy towards him by his hips; Jimmy's back collided with Mr Barrow's hard chest, the other man's erection pressing against his arse. He couldn't help noticing that the front of Mr Barrow's trousers was already damp.

_God, you'd slide into me so easily – you're already dripping, slicker than any oil, I bet – you'd fill me until I was ready to burst, your head grazing against that sweet spot inside me – I bet you'd slam into me until I melted in the heat, begging you to put me out of my misery!_

Mr Barrow traced a finger all the way from Jimmy's neck to his coccyx – Jimmy arched his back slightly from the irresistible sensation, so that his arse pushed backwards, grinding further into Mr Barrow's hard cock. Jimmy couldn't see his face but he could hear by how Mr Barrow's breathing had readjusted how it must have been affecting him.

With one hand snaking around to Jimmy's belly and tugging him close, Mr Barrow's other hand softly crept down Jimmy's pyjama bottoms and he stroked his bum cheek teasingly.

'Your skin is so soft – it's delicious,' Mr Barrow murmured. 'The things I could do to it…'

'Like what? Tell me!' Jimmy asked eagerly, trembling.

Mr Barrow withdrew his hand and Jimmy instantly spotted his mistake.

'Please tell me, Mr Barrow – please tell me your ideas,' he begged.

The hand returned, less delicate this time; it squeezed Jimmy's right cheek and he let out a wanton moan.

'You like that?'

'Yes.'

Mr Barrow let him go again. Jimmy was about to complain – but his heart started racing when he saw that Mr Barrow was opening the drawer of the bedside table and getting a small pot out.

'This will make it nice and smooth,' Mr Barrow growled in his ear, bending Jimmy forward until he was on his hands and knees and pulling his pyjama bottoms down.

Jimmy expected Mr Barrow's slickly-oiled hand to grope him, but it didn't.

_Oh God, is that his tongue? It must be!_ Mr Barrow was licking soft, tantalising swipes along his cheeks, circling ever closer to his entrance – the tongue touched it very lightly with its tip, enough to make Jimmy whimper, before retreating.

Fingers – one, then quickly two as Mr Barrow realised that Jimmy was more accommodating than he had expected – they slid and scissored with gratifying ease, hunting something.

_There! God, how could I have only found out something so amazing so recently?_ Jimmy cried out involuntarily and Mr Barrow chuckled. He leaned over Jimmy so that the footman was supporting the older man's weight on his back. It felt surprisingly good, especially with Mr Barrow's cock pressing into his hip.

'That's nice, isn't it?' Mr Barrow whispered.

'So nice,' Jimmy agreed, pushing back on Mr Barrow's hand needily. 'Can I have three fingers, please, Mr Barrow?'

'Well, you certainly know what you want!' Mr Barrow teased; Jimmy could feel the head of Mr Barrow's cock twitching against his hip, as hungry as he was.

'You could put it in, you know?' Jimmy offered, craning his neck to look back over his shoulder at Mr Barrow, whose neat hair had fallen loose and was flopping over his face. Their eyes met with irresistible electricity for a second before he stared pointedly at Mr Barrow's crotch lest there be any misunderstanding as to what 'it' was.

Mr Barrow responded by biting into Jimmy's shoulder, shoving his fingers further into Jimmy until his knuckles kneaded his cheeks, and wrapping his free hand around Jimmy's cock.

The heat, sweet and unbearable, built up within him until he came, screwing up the bed sheets in his hands; he lay down, or rather collapsed, his head in his hands, his body a shatter of bliss. Mr Barrow stroked his back tenderly.

After a minute or so, Jimmy dragged himself into sitting position, facing Mr Barrow who was still fully-clothed – and fully-aroused.

Determined, Jimmy stroked the front of his pyjamas, feeling the hard cock through the fabric. Mr Barrow swallowed, his eyes lidded but absolutely focussed on Jimmy. Jimmy reached inside the pyjamas and grasped the hot, silky skin – it felt better than his own, better than Theo's, simply by being a part of Mr Barrow.

Mr Barrow released quickly in Jimmy's hand, the spectacular sight of the footman writhing beneath him having already made short work of him; he sighed lightly as his seed spilled between Jimmy's fingers. Mr Barrow was still in control, Jimmy realised. He was determined to get a better reaction from him next time.


	7. Chapter 7

It wasn't as though Jimmy expected Mr Barrow to spend every waking moment with him as soon as he got back to England, but he had expected to be made some sort of priority – more so, at least, than Baxter.

After dismissing the laughable notion of Mr Barrow being in love with Baxter which he'd entertained for half a second, Jimmy decided that the only way to find out the truth was to employ the time-old Downton tradition of stealth eavesdropping. Everybody did it but nobody spoke of it.

'So, have you found out what was the matter with Mr and Mrs Bates' marriage?' Mr Barrow asked Baxter; from the other side of the door, Jimmy thought he sounded sexy and menacing.

'Not exactly – but do you remember that valet, Green? Well, he's dead and I heard Lady Mary and Mrs Bates talking about what a relief it was – and Mr Bates seems far happier, too,' Baxter reported dutifully.

'Hm,' Mr Barrow contemplated. 'You don't suppose she had an affair with him, do you think?'

'I thought you said she was incorruptible?'

'Yes – but I've been wrong before... Either way, it sounds like a domestic issue and not nearly as interesting as I thought it might turn out to be.'

'So, I'll leave it drop,' Baxter said. She sounded relieved.

'This case, yes – but make sure to listen out for anything else that's going on upstairs. I don't want to be caught unawares.'

There was a silence for a few moments. Jimmy pressed his ear more firmly against the door and held his breath.

'You don't have to be in control of everything, you know,' Baxter said eventually; her voice sounded gentle, almost concerned. 'Nothing bad is going to happen and drive you out of a job.'

Jimmy felt a sharp rush of guilt.

'That's not a certainty, is it?' Mr Barrow said, cold and sarcastic and impenetrable. 'Bad things always happen, one thing after another, and if you're not prepared, they'll knock you sideways. Like your poor Jacob dying – that shouldn't have happened, but it did!'

Baxter's silence felt raw on the other side of the door. 'How should I have been prepared for my husband dying? For finding a job when I hadn't worked for twenty years?'

Jimmy wondered what smart, cutting remark Mr Barrow would unleash on her. None came.

'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that.' Mr Barrow sounded humbled, regretful.

'No, you shouldn't have – I suppose you're lucky that I'm in the habit of forgiving you,' she said, her voice having regained most of its composure. 'Mum and Dad always said I let you off too easily when you were being a cheeky beggar.'

_Mum and Dad? As in the same parents? For both of them? But that means..._

As Jimmy's brain was taking an embarrassing amount of time to equate two plus two into a tentative four, a pincer-like thumb and forefinger latched themselves onto his ear and dragged him away from the door.

'James! This is not the front door, which you were supposed to have answered! I must remind you that you are not being employed to listen at doors!' Mr Carson roared at him, still holding Jimmy's ear, which he suspected now had a perforated drum. He was also acutely aware that Mr Carson's voice was loud enough to be heard throughout downstairs – indubitably including behind the door at which he was listening.

'Yes, Mr Carson,' Jimmy muttered before scarpering off, red-faced.

Serving dinner that night was awkward. Mr Barrow, standing opposite him on the other side of the dining table while the family talked about pigs and horses and hunting and charities, bored into Jimmy with his eyes. _He knew_. He knew that Jimmy had been listening to the conversation.

Jimmy knew that he had better come up with a good excuse before facing Mr Barrow but his whirring brain couldn't come up with a single reasonable explanation. Could he say that he had fallen onto the door, ear-first?

'I was curious!' he blurted out as soon as he and Mr Barrow were alone together, carrying trays downstairs.

'Sorry? Mr Barrow frowned.

'I listened to your conversation because I was curious, and I'm sorry,' Jimmy hurried.

Mr Barrow shrugged. 'Oh, that – I'd forgotten that! It's not a big thing, I listen at doors all the time – I don't mind you knowing she's my sister. Although your apology is quite sweet,' he said, looking tenderly at Jimmy.

He felt like a fool. 'But you were glaring at me throughout dinner!'

'Staring, yes – glaring, no,' Mr Barrow clarified. 'I was mentally undressing you, if you must know.' He gave Jimmy a lascivious glance which caused a flush of pleasure.

Jimmy shook his head. 'I think you might destroy me before you're quite done with me,' he said, dropping his voice to a whisper as they neared the kitchen.

'Oh, I intend to!'

It was strange how quickly routines seemed to form, like puddles blooming in the rain. You don't even notice them there until there is already quite a bit of water. In the same way, Jimmy didn't realise that his nightly routine consisted of changing into his pyjamas, washing his face and brushing his teeth, checking that his hair fell with understated elegance, tiptoeing over to Mr Barrow's room, indulging in unspeakable things, then tiptoeing back until it had been going on for almost a fortnight.

That night, Thomas was reading a letter when Jimmy arrived, smiling to himself; the jealousy that flared up suddenly in Jimmy was in no way related, he was sure of it.

'Who's writing to you?' Jimmy asked airily, joining Thomas on the bed.

'Oh, just an old friend from the war – Theo, his name is,' Mr Barrow said, closing the letter and putting it aside.

Jimmy felt himself break out in a dizzying cold sweat. 'It's not what it sounds like!'

'What?' Mr Barrow asked, frowning.

Ah – so maybe he had jumped to conclusions. 'Nothing!'

'Why don't I believe you? What's wrong? I'm assuming you know Theo somehow…' Mr Barrow trailed off. Pieces started slotting together in his head. 'The most likely place for you to have met Theo is – the brothel? Madam Du Brienne's?' He started laughing. 'You went _there,_ you naughty boy? When was this?'

'While you were in America,' Jimmy said sheepishly.

'And you had your wicked way with pretty little Theo? Quite talented, isn't he?' Mr Barrow laughed again, looking a little exhilarated. 'Well, it certainly looks like I've got you hooked – I'm not sure whether to apologise or say 'you're welcome'.'

'It's a shame he's there, though,' Jimmy said. 'He seems quite clever.' He tried to ignore his annoyance that Mr Barrow wasn't the least bit put-out.

'Certainly he's clever. He's as bright as a new penny – and if there were a way to help him, I would – but he's too proud for that,' Mr Barrow said, looking sad. Jimmy had to snatch back his hand from comforting him.

Mr Barrow made a light-hearted attempt to change the mood of the conversation. Grinning, he asked Jimmy: 'So, tell me about the brothel! It goes without saying that you enjoyed,' he chucked with a wink at Jimmy. Jimmy couldn't stop searching his eyes, hoping for a little bit of sadness or a little bit of jealousy – something to tell him that Mr Barrow wasn't treating this – whatever it was that had bloomed between them – as flippantly as he was appearing to.

'I enjoy you more,' Jimmy said. He let his hand hover towards Mr Barrow's and gently stroke the knuckles with his fingertips. The two men watched their hands, transfixed as though something momentous were happening.

'I thought that you didn't want anything _romantic_?' Mr Barrow said, but his sarcasm was shaky – and there was that look in his eyes, that hope he used to have when he first met Jimmy.

'I didn't,' Jimmy admitted. 'And now I do.'

There was a bizarre silence that Jimmy didn't know how to read. Was Mr Barrow happy about Jimmy's confession or not? Was he looking for romance or did he just want a bit of fun?

'Can – can we kiss?' Jimmy asked nervously.

Mr Barrow leant forward and held Jimmy's face between his hands, their foreheads touching. Jimmy could feel the other man's breath, the warmth of his skin – he wanted to reach forward and kiss every part of it, his high cheekbones, his subtly aquiline nose and pink lips, but Mr Barrow was holding him back.

'You're sure of this? Because if I let myself love you, that's not going back in the box, it can't,' Mr Barrow whispered urgently.

'I've never been surer,' Jimmy said, still fighting against Mr Barrow's fingertips.

He relinquished; leaving his hands drop to Jimmy's shoulders, he surrendered himself to Jimmy's kiss.

It wasn't at all what Jimmy thought it would be like. Kissing had always been something which Jimmy had considered a vaguely pleasant way of getting hard, a means to an end – but something, above all, 'girly'.

This was something entirely different. Jimmy's lips were touching Thomas' lips – the fact alone sent Jimmy's brain spiralling into giddiness. Then there was the unbearable physical closeness, being fused by sensitive nerve-endings, the wet heat, the overpowering scent and taste of him.

Then there was the fact that Thomas was kissing Jimmy back. Hesitant for only a second before matching Jimmy's enthusiasm, their mouths moved together as though they'd done so for a thousand years. Not in the sense that it was elegant – in fact, their lips crashed, sometimes a bit too hard, it was sloppy and their heads went the wrong way – but it felt absolutely right.

Thomas pulled back to catch his breath, his hands clutching the side of Jimmy's face, beaming breathlessly. It was so wonderful to see him happy that Jimmy wondered why he had never done this before.

And then they were kissing again with a passion that Jimmy had never dreamed imaginable – his hands found themselves wrapped around Thomas' back, digging urgently through his clothes to get to the skin underneath.

Still kissing Jimmy, Thomas pushed him back gently, practically cradling him, until he was lying flat on his back with the older man on top, their bodies pushed flush together. Jimmy moaned into their kiss, his hands grasping at Thomas and his hips bucking as though they had a mind of their own – his entire body was trying to meld itself with Thomas, to get as close as physically possible.

Thomas pulled himself back suddenly, resting on his forearms and gazed at Jimmy with a sweetness that seemed incongruous with his raging erection.

'You're beautiful, you know,' he said, stroking Jimmy's hair. Jimmy answered by pushing himself up off the floor with his shoulders, reclaiming Thomas for another kiss.

_God, this stuff is addictive. _

The fire built up between them like they were creating their own star, a delicious blend of heat and friction. Unable to bear it any longer, Jimmy lifted Thomas' shirt up over his chest and yanked down his pyjama bottoms; on cue, Thomas did the same to him.

Clothes aside, they stared, entirely naked in front of each other for the first time. Shy. Vulnerable.

_Why has it taken me so long to see your body? You're here now – all of you – and I avoided it for so long…_

'This is what you look like,' Jimmy murmured, trailing a hand along Thomas' chest, through the sparse dark hair on ivory skin, dropping down to his belly where thicker hair pointed a path down to his cock which, Jimmy noted with pleasure, was promisingly thick and already offering up a bead of liquid on its tip.

'It is – not quite as young as I once was, I'm afraid,' Thomas answered lightly, his eyes on Jimmy's toned, golden flesh like it was delicious forbidden fruit.

'Don't be mad,' Jimmy said, his hands fluttering to Thomas' waist and roughly pulling their bodies together. Thomas' hands reached up and pinned Jimmy's wrists above his head while he kissed his neck.

'I've needed this for too long,' Jimmy whispered happily as they moved together, rutting deliriously. 'And I didn't even know.'

'I'm glad you know now,' Thomas answered, smiling too, like his face might break from the gladness.

He reached between their bodies, wriggling his hand to find a path through the balmy heat, until his hand met Jimmy's cock. Jimmy mewled and pressed into Thomas' palm, all possible embarrassment long forgotten. Thomas stroked teasingly along his length, once, twice, three times, sending a wave of warmth through it each time – then he moved his hips so that his own cock rubbed against Jimmy's.

Jimmy gasped as their erections pressed together, encased in Thomas' loving hand – the older man tightened his grip, sliding their heads into each other, coating each other. He squirmed against the hand which was still pinning his wrists down, desperate to touch Thomas, but he was caught fast.

'Shh, I'm looking after you!' Thomas whispered into Jimmy's neck, his voice ragged – he, too, was close to the point of no return, of bursting ecstatically into his own hand.

The heat, finally too much, throbbed and broke out of Jimmy, splattering all over Thomas' hand and cock. Thomas, with a few final thrusts against Jimmy's waning erection, finished, too, his face crunching up with abandon – the first time, Jimmy realised, that Thomas had abandoned himself while they were together.

They stared at each other – just stared, for quite a long time, until Thomas pointed out that they better get under the sheets before they got cold.

'Too late,' Jimmy said, pressing his foot into Thomas' warm thigh and laughing when the under butler yelped disapprovingly.

They fell asleep up under the sheets, facing each other, their faces centimetres from touching, their fingers intertwined contentedly.


	8. Chapter 8

'You seem very happy,' Moseley said as Jimmy almost waltzed into the dining room.

'Why shouldn't I be happy?' Jimmy said, not having the heart to be sarcastic even to Moseley that morning. 'It's a beautiful day and all is well in the world.' Jimmy had to concede that he sounded so chirpy he wanted to slap himself.

'How's life with you, Mr Moseley?' Jimmy asked. God, he was even taking an interest in Moseley's well-being now – this 'being in love' malarkey was quite unsettling.

'I'm quite well, Jimmy, thanks for asking,' Moseley said, looking touched. Jimmy hoped that he wasn't going to get emotional.

'And how are things with you and Miss Baxter? You seem to be getting quite good friends,' Jimmy commented as he cleared away the empty glasses from the night before. He hated the way that rich people just left things lying around wherever they felt like it, like toddlers in white tie.

'Yes, I'm rather fond of her, I'll admit,' Moseley said, looking nauseatingly wistful. 'Of course, I'm too old for any sort of... romantic liaison,' Moseley added hastily. 'I haven't walked out with a girl since I was twenty. She went off with a farmer in the end.' Plaintive sigh.

'Oh, you're never too old to be in love, Mr Moseley!' Jimmy beamed at him. He wondered whether it was really wise to be encouraging that relationship – how would Thomas feel if he ended up with Moseley as a relative thanks to Jimmy? Would his love stretch to forgive that?

'Anyway, she seems like a lovely person,' Jimmy said. _Not nearly as attractive as her smouldering brother but not a bitch._

'Oh, she is lovely,' Moseley assured. 'She's friends with everyone – well, almost everyone,' he amended.

'Oh,' Jimmy asked, feigning casual interest. He was in fact dying to know who Miss Baxter didn't like. 'She's always so nice to everyone downstairs – is it someone from the family?'

Moseley, quite frustratingly, clammed up. 'I shouldn't have said anything. It's her business not mine.'

'Yes, of course, I didn't mean to pry,' Jimmy lied through his teeth. 'It's just that I can't imagine Miss Baxter being unkind to anyone.'

'She's not unkind to him, she just doesn't like him,' Mr Moseley defended. 'She treats him with the respect he deserves. Besides, she wouldn't have the chance to be unkind to him, she's never around his Lordship in the first place—' Moseley's face flashed in panic. The cat was out of the bag.

'His Lordship!' Jimmy echoed, confused. He stopped clearing away for a second and stared at the other footman who was clearly in some distress at having dropped his friend in it. 'Don't worry, I won't say anything.' _Well, not until I can find a way to use it to my advantage!_

'It's nothing, really,' Moseley tried to tell Jimmy. 'She doesn't hate him, she just isn't keen on him.'

'Do you know why?'

Moseley shook his head. 'She just said that something happened long ago. She didn't even mean to tell me, it sort of slipped out.'

_Yes, that tends to happen. She didn't mean to tell you, you didn't mean to tell me and I'm sure that I don't mean to tell Thomas._

'What did his Lordship ever do to your sister?' Jimmy demanded as soon as he was alone with Thomas.

It was early afternoon and most of the servants were getting on with all sorts of little jobs while it was quiet. Jimmy was winding the clock in the front hall and Thomas was doing what seemed to be his main job description since becoming an under butler: overseeing. In this instance, Jimmy was sure that Thomas was merely checking out his behind.

'My sister? I don't know whether his Lordship's ever had a conversation with Phyl, to be honest,' Thomas said quietly.

'You call her Phyl – that's rather endearing,' Jimmy said, glancing over his shoulder and grinning at his lover. The word _lover_ still sent a shiver up his back – he had a lover, someone to ravage him every night, to make his body sing a song he never knew existed.

Thomas stepped closer to him and, after glancing around furtively to make sure that they were still alone, whispered in his ear: 'Don't look at me like that or I might have to take you right here, right now. That would be very difficult to explain if we were interrupted.'

'I'm sure you can think of something,' Jimmy murmured back. 'With an imagination like yours.'

Thomas smiled and stroked Jimmy's cheek but his eyes never stopped scanning, alert like a blackbird on the lookout for predators as it hopped across the long grass in search of food. Jimmy wondered whether he would come to adopt that look: the look of being hunted, of never being quite relaxed, of listening out for every creak of the floorboards lest the police come barging in.

'Do you remember when you first taught me how to wind these clocks?' Jimmy asked.

'Of course. You were so eager to learn and make a good impression. How times have changed,' Thomas teased. 'I told you never to go past the point where the clock was comfortable. I'm afraid I didn't exactly listen to my own advice and went past the point where you were comfortable,' he said regretfully.

'You didn't,' Jimmy argued, closing the glass face of the clock. 'I wasn't comfortable with what people might think of me but I was never uncomfortable with you. Not at any time. When I woke up…' he trailed off awkwardly; both men were aware of what Jimmy was referring to. 'I was horrified by what Alfred would say to people but I was never horrified by you.'

Jimmy didn't like this being brought up. It reminded him of the years he had wasted. 'We ought to be getting back to work,' he said.

Thomas grabbed Jimmy's hand and kissed his wrist gently. 'I'm your boss, remember. You don't have to go back to work until I say.'

The rest of the day passed slowly. Every day passed slowly recently because Jimmy was waiting for night to come. The clocks were torturing him, dragging out the hours longer than they needed to.

The Bates' were making sweet eyes at each other over the dinner table that evening; Jimmy had preferred it when they had marital problems. He wondered idly how severe Mr Carson's heart attack would be if he started looking at Thomas like that.

'Why is his Lordship going to London for three days? That's longer than usual,' Mrs Bates was asking her husband.

'Just business, I think,' Mr Bates answered in his woeful martyr's voice. _Good, at least you'll be gone for a few days, then!_

Ivy came in from the kitchen to clear to plates away and gave Jimmy a sound glare, sticking her hand dramatically on her hip.

'What are you doing for your half-day tomorrow, Mr Barrow?' she asked Thomas as she took his plate away.

He looked rather taken-aback that Ivy was starting a conversation with him – Jimmy was sure that he'd always considered her to be a blurry, female shape to be made fun of occasionally. Not that he didn't like women, but he had a very low tolerance for boring people.

'I'll be going in to York,' Thomas told her from the side of his mouth, not bothering to take his cigarette out to talk to her properly.

'Well, I hope you have a lovely time. You deserve it,' she told him sweetly to the general confusion of the table.

_Is she actually flirting with him to make me jealous? That's absolutely priceless!_

'Are you really going to York tomorrow?' Jimmy asked Thomas later as he lay stretched out on Thomas' bed, or as stretched out as those tiny beds would allow. He was still sore from being buggered senselessly, still feeling empty from where Thomas' cock had fit snug inside him.

Thomas was smoking out the window.

'Yes. I'm not sneaking off to London to kill anyone. My name's not John Bates.'

'What are you going to do in York?'

'Well, I need to buy a few things and I'm meeting Theo for a drink in the evening,' Thomas said, blowing smoke outside into the night air.

Jimmy sat up straight in bed, willing himself not to overreact.

'You're seeing Theo,' he echoed.

'That's right,' Thomas said. He glanced over his shoulder back at Jimmy. 'Are you alright?'

'Well, it's just that—' Jimmy struggled to find the words. 'I suppose I just assumed that we were a couple now and that meant…' he trailed off, feeling stupid.

Thomas stubbed out his cigarette, sat down next to Jimmy and held his face in his hands, kissing him on the forehead.

'We _are_ a couple,' he told Jimmy intensely.

'But you're still meeting Theo,' Jimmy said, not meeting Thomas' eye.

'Not in any romantic way, I promise you,' Thomas reassured, lying his body down next to Jimmy's and scooping him up in his arms. It felt safe. 'Theo and I have been friends for years, and this is just two old mates catching up on old times.'

'That doesn't' make me feel any better – I know what happened between you during "old times",' Jimmy reminded. A vivid image raced through his mind:

_Thomas was thrusting into Theo from behind, one hand splayed on his chest and the other gripping his cock. Theo's eyes were lidded, his red mouth open and hungry, telling Thomas how big he was and how good he felt. Thomas was groaning, burying his face in Theo's thick curls._

Thomas kissed Jimmy, almost banishing the images.

'That was the past. This is now. Us. Besides, Theo needs a friend right now, not a lover.'

Jimmy supposed that was true. Theo probably had different priorities to trying to seduce Jimmy's boyfriend.

'I trust you,' he told Thomas grudgingly. He trust him about ninety-five per cent – which was a lot considering that Jimmy didn't even trust himself that much.


	9. Chapter 9

Jimmy spent most of the day wondering what Thomas was doing at that very second. Was he with Theo? What was he doing with Theo? How many times? Would Jimmy be able to tell when he saw Thomas whether he had cheated? Would there be a faint air of deceit lingering about him like a cloud of smoke?

It was exhausting.

'You seem out of sorts, James,' Miss Baxter said to him as she darned one of her Ladyship's gloves at the table.

'I'm fine,' Jimmy said, puffing his chest out stoically even though there was a five per cent chance that he was being cuckolded at that very moment.

She gave him a quiet, searching look, not dissimilar to how Thomas often looked at him. The more he thought about it the more obvious it was that they were brother and sister; he was amazed that everyone didn't know.

Jimmy sat down next to her thinking that, as they were the only two in the servants' hall, he might be able to get out of her why she didn't like his Lordship. He needed to employ subtlety however.

'So, do you like working here?' Jimmy asked breezily.

'Yes, I do. I'm grateful for the chance to start again,' she said, smiling. She sounded genuine. 'And I've become very fond of her Ladyship.'

'What about the rest of the family?' Jimmy asked casually, leaning in on the table.

'They're decent people but I don't know them well enough to comment any more than that. It's strange how we all live under the same roof yet we barely interact.'

Jimmy couldn't think of a way to get more information out of her without letting on what Moseley had admitted, and if he did that there was every chance that Baxter would be more careful regarding what she said to Moseley in the future. Jimmy frowned, stumped.

'Don't worry,' Baxter said, seeing his expression. 'I'm sure he'll bring you back something nice from York.'

Jimmy jerked to sit upright. _She knew!_ And she was teasing him – although not, Jimmy decided, after studying her gentle smile, in a bad way.

'He'd better,' Jimmy said. After a pause, he added: 'You know, Moseley isn't the only one who prefers you to Miss O'Brien. Everyone likes you.'

'Considering how everyone around here talks about her, I'm not sure how much of a compliment that is, but thank you,' Baxter said.

'It got sour towards the end,' Jimmy agreed. 'Especially between her and Mr Barrow.'

'Really? I thought they were good friends, at one point anyway. What went wrong?'

'She wanted him to help Alfred and he wouldn't.'

She nodded, understanding. 'It's hard to forgive someone who has wronged your family. Very hard. No matter how much time passes.' Baxter looked pensive, as though recalling something.

_Is that why you don't like his Lordship? Has he done something to your family? Maybe I should ask Thomas about it – but then he said yesterday that he didn't know of any reason for Baxter holding a grudge. Is it something that he doesn't know about? They're from Thirsk, I know that much, so it might be something that happened long ago. She's obviously older than him, so maybe he was too young to remember._

Baxter glanced up from her darning and offered Jimmy a strained smile. 'Ignore me. I'm just talking nonsense.'

_But you're not, are you? That's just something people say when they're trying to hide the truth in plain sight._

Thomas got back from at around eleven. Jimmy couldn't discern any visible signs that he had spent the afternoon taking part in some sort of orgy. He wasn't sure what he expected: flushed elation in his eyes, dishevelled hair, come dripping down his chin?

No, he looked the same as ever.

'How was Theo?' Jimmy forced himself to ask later as Thomas spooned him, fitting with miraculous ease against his body.

Thomas chuckled. 'How difficult was it for you to ask that?'

'Only torture.'

'Mm – thanks, though – I appreciate it.' He kissed Jimmy's bare shoulder. 'He's alright, I think. It's hard to tell because he's so guarded – never gives anything away. In the trenches, he was always the one who always said that the war would end the next day. _Come on, one more day, boys, nothing to it_.'

'It must have been handy having him around.'

'Yes, it was, for the most part – some days it got irritating. I wanted to scream at him that there wasn't one more day left until we were all scoffing bacon and eggs, we were all going to die there.'

After a few beats of silence, Jimmy said: 'Right, that's enough about your old lovers – did you buy me anything today?'

'You mean my love alone isn't enough?'

'So you didn't buy me anything?'

'I ought to take it back, you cheeky boy,' Thomas scolded, jostling Jimmy around so that they faced one another.

'I'm not a boy,' Jimmy snapped, feathers ruffled.

'I know you're not.' He looked Jimmy lecherously up and down. 'I can confirm that you're a proper man. Apart from your strangely hairless chest, that is.'

'Oi! I'm sensitive about that!'

'You? Self-conscious about your physical appearance?'

Thomas hauled himself off the bed and took something out of his drawer; it was wrapped in thick brown paper and Jimmy eyed it eagerly. Taking his place back at the bed, Thomas kissed Jimmy's chest, lingering to kiss his nipple.

'I can see why you're worried,' Thomas purred, resting his chin on Jimmy's stomach and holding the gift where Jimmy couldn't reach it. 'If only you had more hair, I'd be so much happier.'

'What's my present?' Jimmy asked, leaning forward to try and swipe it.

'Do you deserve it?'

'Probably not, but you've already bought it.'

Thomas' grin widened and he pushed Jimmy back on the bed until he was lying flat. 'Ask me nicely.'

'May I have my present, please, Mr Barrow?' Jimmy asked, fluttering his eyelashes a little.

It was a book of sheet music bound in olive green leather.

'The man in the shop said that all the new songs are in there, all the popular ones at the moment,' Thomas explained. In spite of his light tone, there was concern in his eyes. He wanted to get his very first present to Jimmy right.

Jimmy found he couldn't speak.


	10. Chapter 10

One day in mid-December, Carson arrived for lunch in a foul temper. Jimmy didn't think he'd ever seen him so shaken, his granite-like face glaring at his lunch as though it had said something bad about his mother – or worse, Lady Mary.

Everyone looked too nervous to breathe except for Mrs Hughes, who shot the butler a highly annoyed look.

'You might as well tell them – they're going to find out anyway!'

Carson furrowed his brow further, wounded, but cleared his throat and announced with some difficulty: '_Mr_ Branson,' he started with heavy sarcasm on the title which implied that the ex-chauffeur had committed another egregious error, 'has deemed fit to invite a guest to Downton Abbey for dinner. It is not a source of gossip, of course, but it is unconventional as he is not a member of the family. No more shall be said on the matter.' In spite of his ambiguous presentation of this information, it was quite clear that the guest would be a woman and someone with whom Branson was walking out.

The maids exchanged furtive little glances. It was obvious that they would launch into gossip the second that Carson left. Jimmy wondered why everyone was so interested in who other people liked. For example, he liked Thomas and didn't care who anyone else liked, as long as it wasn't Thomas.

'So, he's finally got himself another girlfriend,' Thomas drawled once Carson had left. 'I wonder how they'll react to that upstairs.'

'Was he supposed to stay a single man forever, Mr Barrow?' Mrs Hughes asked him archly.

Thomas offered her that awkward half-smile, half-grimace he did whenever he found himself unable to retort. Jimmy wanted to nuzzle into him like a cat to make him feel better.

'I think it'll be good for Miss Sybbie to have a mother,' Ivy said.

'She won't be replacing Lady Sybil whatever happens,' Thomas said sharply, lighting a cigarette.

'No, that weren't what I meant. I know how much you liked her,' Ivy answered, almost whispered, looking humble. After a few seconds of hesitation where her hand floundered uncertainly in the air, she touched his shoulder gently then whisked back to the kitchen. Thomas frowned and cast a confused look over his shoulder at Ivy's retreating back.

He looked back at Jimmy as though for an explanation, but Jimmy merely shrugged.

Dinner that night was an unsurprisingly strained affair upstairs. Mrs Crawley questioned Miss Bunting about her politics with enthusiasm and her Ladyship asked politely about the school. The rest of them seemed to be employing the policy by which, if they could not say anything nice, they would not say anything at all. Jimmy wondered who would crack first.

'I received a letter from Edith this morning,' Lady Mary said, brusquely changing the subject. 'She says that Switzerland is beautiful this time of year.'

'How nice for her to be having this adventure! Has she decided to come back for Christmas?' her Ladyship beamed.

'She thinks that she'll be back in time for the New Year. She also says that she has a surprise in store for us. Knowing Edith, I doubt it's anything very shocking,' Lady Mary replied dryly.

'I'd love to go abroad,' Miss Bunting said. 'I've always wanted to travel but I've never had the chance.'

'No, I suppose you wouldn't,' Lady Mary replied, her face expressionless. She had the long mastered the art of being rude in a way that was somehow socially acceptable.

At the end of the night, after his Lordship and Mr Branson had finished their manly port and cigars and joined the ladies in the drawing room, and the guests had politely left, Mr Branson stood up and took Miss Bunting's hand.

_Now, this is interesting!_

Jimmy caught Thomas' eye and he could see that he, too, was wondering what would happen next. Carson glared at the clasped hands.

'I have something to tell you all,' Mr Branson said, blinking rapidly. He was nervous. 'Sarah and I are engaged.'

There was a rather stunned silence. Jimmy froze and tried to be part of the furniture. It was difficult to tell who was shaking with the most rage, his Lordship or Carson.

'You have the nerve-' his Lordship started to splutter. He didn't seem able to find the words to express his anger, possibly because his anger was based more on his emotions than logic.

'It's been two and a half years,' Tom reminded quietly, but his eyes were fixed on the carpet.

Lady Mary got up and walked out, followed quickly by Lady Rose.

It was only then that Jimmy noticed that Carson was gesturing at him and Thomas to follow him out of the room. He supposed the butler thought it was a time to leave the family in peace to grapple with this information.

In the hallway, Lady Mary was leaning against a pillar, her marble face frozen. Lady Rose was fluttering anxiously at her side.

'Are you quite alright?'

'No, I'm not at all alright,' Lady Mary replied heavily. Her fingers fastened tighter on the wood. 'He was standing in the exact same place.'

'I don't understand.'

'Tom was standing in the exact same place as when he told Papa that he and Sybil were going to marry.'

'James!' Carson hissed, and Jimmy hurried after him, unaware that he'd even stopped to listen.

Carson retired early to bed that night, probably on the edge of another heart attack, leaving the servants to relax and play cards. Jimmy was unreasonably annoyed that Moseley decided to stay and join the game like an unneeded wheel.

'She seems like a pleasant enough girl, that Miss Bunting,' Moseley said as Thomas dealt, oblivious to the withering look that the under butler was giving him.

'She's not as pretty as Lady Sybil,' Jimmy said.

'Nobody is. There could be benefits to him marrying this one, though,' Thomas mused.

'What sort of benefits?' Jimmy asked.

Thomas glanced over at Moseley, who was looking at the cards he'd been dealt, his lips moving over the numbers. 'I'll tell you later,' Thomas promised quietly.

'Ah, well, it was a shame about Lady Sybil,' Moseley muttered, having finished sorting his cards and rejoining the conversation.

'Yes,' Thomas said tersely, his eyes flickering downwards. He had been so sad when she died. Jimmy had barely known him back then but he'd found himself strangely needing to help in some way, to comfort this man who so rarely showed any love for people. _And now he loves me._

It was a short game; Moseley was useless. He at least had the good grace to excuse himself and go to bed, leaving Jimmy and Thomas alone together. Jimmy's pulse quickened the second that Moseley left the room. After so much time, the anticipation between them was still palpable.

'What did Lady Sybil do to make such an impression on you?' Jimmy asked as they started their second game.

'She just treated me like a human being. I'd got so used to it being 'my kind' against the rest of the world that it was a shock to realise that she was on my side, too – not out of any misplaced sense of pity but because it was so natural for her.' He shrugged and shook his head. 'It was just little things, mostly – but when we worked at the hospital we were both looking after a blinded soldier called Lieutenant Courtney. He could have had such a bright future and he had that stolen from him. I- I cared for him a lot. I'm not sure what was between us, whether it was romantic or friendship, but it was real. He kissed me once, and the next day he killed himself. Sybil understood and she held my hand – nobody had ever let me grieve before.'

Jimmy put his cards down on the table and reached over to kiss Thomas, putting his hands on the side of his face and stroking circles; the skin was stubbly and deliciously rough on the sensitive pads of Jimmy's thumbs. Thomas put his own hands over Jimmy's and squeezed tightly.

They just kissed for a while – not thinking about the fact that they were in the servants' hall, nor about the fact that it wasn't even that late, not thinking about anything but the slowly deepening pleasure of their kiss as the world blurred away. Jimmy hoped that he was making some of the pain go away but he didn't begrudge Lieutenant Courtney's place in Thomas' memories. After all, there was nothing to be feared from a dead man.

It was lucky, really, that the stairs leading to the bottom floor were so creaky and that they heard Ivy coming with enough time to pull apart and return to their seats, staring pointedly at their cards.

'Oh,' Ivy said, surprised. 'I didn't think anyone else would be down here. I've just come to get some milk because I couldn't sleep.'

'No need to narrate,' Jimmy muttered resentfully, but she didn't hear.

'Are you feeling alright, Mr Barrow?' she asked, nearing the under butler. Jimmy wanted to swipe her away. 'Your colour's up.'

'Yes, I'm fine,' he answered evenly.

'Well, let me know if I can get you a Beecham's or anything,' Ivy simpered before turning to head back upstairs.'

Jimmy and Thomas broke out in nervous laughter as soon as she was gone.

'She fancies you something rotten and no mistake,' Jimmy said, rolling his eyes to the heavens.

'She has excellent taste – second time around, anyway,' he said with a wink at Jimmy.

'She just wants what she can't have. It's human nature to go after the forbidden fruit.'

'Oh, really,' Thomas drawled. 'Who says she can't have me? I could always change my mind, you know. Decide to broaden my horizons.'

'I'm fairly certain your horizons are as broad as they can safely get,' Jimmy told him seriously.

'There's no such thing as too much experience,' Thomas retorted. 'Ivy's a pretty girl, as you yourself have taken pains to point out on many occasions. I might like to see for myself what all the fuss is about.'

Jimmy put down his cards purposefully, stood up and walked around to the other side of the table so that he stood behind Thomas. The older man showed no reaction until Jimmy grabbed him and twisted his head to the side, crushing their lips together, forcing his tongue through Thomas' teeth. It was hot and wet in there and Jimmy slid their tongues against each other, keeping one hand on Thomas's jaw to control the kiss, eliciting a moan of willingness from the other man.

Jimmy pulled back suddenly and whispered in Thomas' ear: 'You don't have to wonder about anything other than me. I can be as pretty as you want me to be.'

'I thought you didn't like it when I called you pretty?'

'Perhaps I've changed my mind. Perhaps I like being pretty if it's for you – just for you.'

Jimmy kissed the back of Thomas' neck and the bumps at the top of his spine as his head drooped forward.

In spite of the risk of someone else coming downstairs, Thomas eased himself onto the dining table and, lying flat on his back, he pulled Jimmy on top of him. It took a minute, all the while passionately kissing and rubbing against each other, for Jimmy to wonder why it felt different.

Thomas was acting differently, submissive and vulnerable and pliant in Jimmy's hands. It was exhilarating and sweet. He knew instinctively that it was rare for Thomas to let his guard down like this and, wanting to make the most of it, he pinned the older man's hands down on the table.

'Don't move,' Jimmy whispered, and Thomas lay bonelessly still as Jimmy undressed him, his body soft but for his growing erection.

Jimmy kissed him all over sporadically, relishing the slightly salty heat of his skin – he finally lingered on his thighs and sucked on them, marking Thomas red – he whimpered softly, his head falling to one side, silky black hair a mess already. Jimmy kissed a path upwards, trying to catch every mole and freckle in his wake – reaching his groin, Jimmy's tongue flicked out to catch Thomas' slit; it was a taste that he had grown to crave.

Thomas hissed and his hands twitched but he forced himself to lie passively and grant Jimmy full access to his body. Jimmy kissed his stomach lovingly.

_I'll take such wonderful care of you!_

'Check my trouser pockets,' Thomas insisted. Jimmy pulled out the small and by now very familiar pot of jelly.

'Do you always have this on you?' he asked Thomas curiously.

'For emergencies such as this, my darling – you're not the only one who tries to always be prepared,' Thomas said, teasing but still demure.

In Jimmy's eagerness, he pushed two fingers straight in; Thomas instantly clenched, wincing.

'Sorry!' Jimmy whispered instantly.

'It's fine, it's fine – just give me a second – I don't do this as regularly as you, remember!'

Eventually, as Thomas grew accustomed to the intrusion, he relaxed and Jimmy was able to flutter his fingertips a little. Thomas made a few soft 'mmm's of approval.

It took longer than Jimmy expected. He didn't know why that surprised him. Perhaps after the sailor story he was under the impression that Thomas did all things all the time, but that didn't seem to be the case. He'd also come to realise that although Thomas might freely have sex, that didn't always equate to intimacy – that was something that had to be earned.

When Thomas was ready, stretched wide and breathing shallow, quick breaths, Jimmy lined himself up, Thomas' legs on each side of his hips.

He slipped in easily, groaning at the hot bursts of pleasure squeezing his cock.

_Jesus Christ! This is beyond magnificent, beyond… anything!_

They moved slowly together, Jimmy's hips colliding gently with Thomas' bum – and, when he could no longer go slowly, the soft slaps that this contact made was the most erotic thing that Jimmy had ever heard.

_I'm inside you! I love you and I'm inside you! I can feel you surrounding me, consuming me!_

Jimmy was giddy with love and pleasure, his eyes trained on Thomas' face which was flushed, crunched up with helpless ecstasy.

He was close, burningly close. Hitching Thomas' legs over his shoulders, he leaned forward, deepening the thrust. Jimmy groaned as the unexpected pleasure of the angle hit him – he strained forward to kiss Thomas, wrapping his arms around him, clawing every inch of skin he could get at – and Thomas in turn had his arms around Jimmy, his nails digging into his lower back, tugging him closer, harder, faster, deeper.

Jimmy came, crying out as every drop was drawn out of him by Thomas' strong inner muscles, the rush of climax lasting longer than he had ever known it to last. He felt as though his insides had been sieved away and he was left weak, barely able to blink.

Jimmy relaxed and let his cheek rest on Thomas' chest, rising and falling with his ribs as he breathed.

Thomas' hands were stroking up his back and his eyes were closed. Jimmy looked down – he was glad to see that Thomas had come, too, although he wasn't sure when exactly it had happened.

'I'm inside you,' Jimmy whispered.

Thomas's eyes snapped open and he smirked a little. 'Yes, I can tell.'

'It was lovely.'

'Lovely? That's a word you use to describe perfectly baked scones or the weather. You can do better than that.'

'It was really, really, _really_ lovely,' Jimmy tried tentatively.

Thomas laughed. 'I need to get you some books to read. Extend your vocabulary.'

Jimmy laughed too and stroked Thomas' face – it was damp with a thin sheen of sweat.

'Were you ever like this with Theo?' Jimmy asked lightly.

The effect was instantaneous.

'What did you just say?' Thomas pulled himself up on to his elbows, nearly knocking foreheads with Jimmy. '_What?_'

'It's just that you're letting me be in charge and you're not usually like that,' Jimmy explained, not understanding why Thomas' eyes were darkening and growing cold.

'And you thought it appropriate to bring that up now?'

'I was just asking,' Jimmy said defensively. 'I don't know what it was like between you two!'

Thomas pulled himself away from Jimmy roughly and started to get dressed.

'_I was just asking_,' Jimmy repeated angrily.

'Well, you need to stop!' Thomas shot back, just as angrily. 'I'm not interested in revisiting the past and I'm definitely not interested in coping with your jealousy.'

'Well, I'm sorry for having emotions!' Jimmy seethed, starting to get dressed as well. In record, valet-trained time, Thomas had whipped all his clothes back on his body and was now staring at Jimmy; he felt exposed and ungainly as he tried to get his sleeves to go the right way.

'When you've decided to accept that there are two of us in this relationship, let me know,' Thomas said snarkily and walked off, leaving Jimmy feeling furious and bemused.

**A.N. The scene where Thomas talks about Sybil is in the same universe as 'Sweetest Spirit', another fic I've written on .**


	11. Chapter 11

It took two days for Jimmy to realise that he would have to make the first move to patch things up with his disgruntled lover; the cold icicle of barbed remarks that Thomas had encased himself in had not shown signs of melting anytime soon.

Jimmy crept over and knocked on his bedroom door before entering. Thomas, in his pyjamas, was staring at the ceiling, his hands folded on his stomach.

'I don't know why you're angry with me,' Jimmy said, nudging Thomas to over so that there was enough space for the both of them.

'I know you don't.'

'Can you just forgive me?'

'I suppose so,' Thomas relented. 'Can you trust me?'

'I suppose so.'

It was nice to be forgiven. The problem wasn't exactly resolved but Jimmy felt reassured that at least it wasn't going to derail their relationship. Besides, it was so nice to just lie there, touching him again, that it was hard to worry very much about what the future held. In just two days, he'd ached to run his hands through the dark hair of his chest and up the sculpted muscles of his back.

'Our half days are both on Friday this week,' Jimmy reminded, stroking Thomas' side. 'Do you want to go to Northallerton? Daisy said they've got a good Christmas market on – it might be worth a look.'

'I can't,' Thomas answered. He looked genuinely contrite but it still stung a little. 'I need to go to Thirsk – you can come if you want.'

'I'd hate to be a burden,' Jimmy said coolly, moving away from Thomas as far as the narrow bed would allow.

'Don't be put out,' Thomas sighed, yanking Jimmy back towards him. 'I'd love you to come with me, I'm just worried that you'll be bored – Thirsk isn't the most exciting place. I thought you might resent me for making you waste your half day there.'

'I'd rather be bored with you than at the West End without you,' Jimmy said, trying to sound off-hand but blushing at his own sentimentality.

'Coming from you, that means a lot,' Thomas said, smiling but looking touched.

* * *

They left the Abbey as soon as they had finished lunch. Jimmy had wondered idly whether it was wise for them to be seen obviously spending the day together but he dismissed it quickly; had he and Alfred gone somewhere together, nobody would have thought twice. Besides, the only person who would have thought to comment on his and Thomas' friendship would have been Miss O'Brien, who was long gone and so it didn't matter.

'So why are we actually going?' Jimmy asked on the bus.

'Well, you remember how I said it might be useful if Branson marries this Miss Bunting?'

'Yes?'

'Well, I'm going to ask at the school where she works to ask about the upcoming vacancy they'll be having,' Thomas explained. 'It'll save them the money of advertising, so hopefully they'll go for it.'

'What upcoming vacancy?'

Thomas looked exasperated at Jimmy. 'Well, whose do you think?'

'Oh.' Jimmy put two and two together. 'What if she doesn't want to leave?'

'She'll have no choice once she's married. It's the law, unfortunately for her – but fortunate for a certain academic friend of mine who's rather keen on a career change.'

Jimmy was happy at the prospect of Theo finding a better job but he was less than thrilled at the idea of the job being so close to Downton.

'And there was nothing in, say, the Outer Hebrides?'

Thomas raised an eyebrow.

'Joking!' Jimmy added hastily.

It was a quaint little village school in the centre of the small town. The children were being let out just as Jimmy and Thomas arrived, wrapped up in threadbare scarves and coats which all looked as though they'd passed through several generations before finding their current owner. The children themselves, however, were laughing and rosy-cheeked, which was as much as could be expected after a gruelling war, chattering as they filed neatly past an eagle-eyed teacher.

Thomas approached her with a charming smile, tipping his hat.

'Good afternoon, I'm Mr Barrow and this is Mr Kent,' he said smoothly. 'Where may we find the schoolmaster?'

The teacher, a sharp young woman in outdated clothes, jerked her head towards the far end of the school. 'He's in his office. I'd be quick, though, he leaves as soon as the bell rings.'

The schoolmaster, who was indeed in his office, was a sombre and intimidating elderly gentleman who gave the impression of great height, even sitting down. Being in his presence made Jimmy instantly want to do as he was told.

'How may I help you?'

'I was wondering if you had advertised Miss Bunting's vacancy yet?' Thomas asked, blandly professional.

The schoolmaster didn't flinch. 'I was unaware that her departure had been made common knowledge.'

'I tend to hear things,' Thomas said pleasantly. 'I would like to put forth an application. He is an upstanding young man educated at Ripon Grammar School but has been unable to find work after fighting for King and country in the war due to lack of experience. I can however attest to his excellent character and selflessness in battle.'

'And you are?' the schoolmaster asked a little coldly.

'Under butler at Downton Abbey, formerly Sergeant Barrow during the war,' Thomas answered in a matching tone.

The schoolmaster sat up a little straighter; evidently Thomas' position carried weight. His eyes slid to Jimmy.

'It's not me,' Jimmy said hastily.

'His name is Mr Theodore Albright,' Thomas continued, handing over some papers to the schoolmaster who peered at them from under his glasses. 'There is a reference from me and a sample of Mr Albright's writing. A reference can also be procured from Ripon Grammar if necessary.'

'No, I'm sure it won't be,' the schoolmaster murmured as his eyes travelled briskly from left to right. 'And you say he hasn't worked in three years?'

'He has returned to his family and helped them on their farm, but he would much prefer to return to an academic world. He always spoke of how much he missed school,' Thomas said.

The schoolmaster glanced up sharply. 'Of course he did. He was in a filthy trench, _of course_ he wanted to be back in school. Furthermore, I would also hardly call teaching the village children their three Rs the academic world. I shall however give your friend an interview – I assume that midday on Monday is convenient for him?'

'I'll make sure to tell him,' Thomas says quickly. 'Thank you.'

When they were safely several hundred yards away from the school, Jimmy glanced over his shoulder before whispering: 'Blimey, he wasn't much fun!'

'I don't think they're supposed to be,' Thomas replied. 'Come on, let's go for a drink!'

They walked over to the pub and Jimmy's mind disagreeably wandered over to a place where Theo was just so grateful to be rescued from destitution that he fell into Thomas' arms and they rode off into the sunset together. _That almost certainly won't happen!_ he chided himself.

On the other side of the town square, dressed in something other than the prescription Lady's Maid black and therefore unrecognisable for a second, Miss Baxter was coming out of a teashop followed by a similarly-aged woman.

'Miss Baxter's over there,' Jimmy said, grabbing Thomas' arm and indicating over.

'Oh, you're right,' Thomas said without much interest.

'Who's she with?'

'That's Mrs Kennedy. They were as thick as thieves back in the day, so I suppose they're catching up.'

'Catching up on what?'

'I doubt it's anything very fascinating. Weddings and babies, probably,' Thomas said, opening the door of the pub. Jimmy, with a regretful look over his shoulder at the two women, followed.

'So nothing's going on, then?'

'Why would it be?'

They ordered their beer and sat by the window, the overly bright winter sunlight reflecting off the snow and lighting the room. The fire near them, warm and smoky, cackled noisily.

'I spoke to Phyl about his Lordship but she didn't seem to have a problem with him – or at least not a problem she was willing to admit – she looked genuinely confused.' He tilted his head to one side and considered. 'I have known her to be a good actress, though, when she needs to be.'

'I'm positive that something's going on,' Jimmy said quickly. 'I just don't know what.' He sighed and drummed the table quickly with his fingers. 'She seems fond of her Ladyship – do you think he could have done something against her and Miss Baxter found out about it?'

Thomas raised his eyebrows, considering. 'How would she have found something like that out though? She never spends any time with him?'

'Could Bates have told her something?' Jimmy suggested wildly.

Thomas laughed. 'Bates? He would gouge out his own eyes before betraying any personal information about the family!'

They thought for a while, each plotting and intense.

'I think our best bet's through Moseley,' Jimmy finally said. 'She talks to him.'

'Hm, I wonder why she doesn't talk to me,' Thomas mused, looking a little hurt.

'Maybe because you're a little bit scary,' Jimmy said. Thomas lips twitched upwards in amusement. 'I mean, not to me – you're nice to me – but you can be scary for the rest of them.'

'You think I come across as scary?' Thomas asked, puffing out his chest proudly.

'Yes, definitely!'

'Thanks, Jimmy,' he grinned.

Thomas hand reached forward but he checked it in time and masked the action by picking up his pint for another swig. It sent a stab of frustration through Jimmy – why couldn't Thomas hold his hand? There wasn't anything inappropriate in holding hands! It was infuriating that they were going to have to spend the rest of their lives being careful around each other in public, always on guard.

_The rest of our lives? Did I really just think that? _Jimmy's stomach knotted suddenly at the realisation that he couldn't stand the thought of his future not having Thomas in it; at the same time, it filled him with a quiet calm. There were no questions, no uncertainties because they were going to be together no matter what, regardless of circumstances.

'You look sort of in a trance – are you okay?' Thomas asked.

'I'm finer than I've ever been,' Jimmy reassured, finishing his drink in one gulp. 'So what do you want to do now? We've still got hours before we need to be back.'

'I was thinking a walk might be nice – there's a path through Wycham Woods which is pretty in the winter.'

'Won't we freeze?' Jimmy asked with some trepidation. Going out in the cold didn't seem particularly appealing.

Thomas glanced around furtively before leaning in and saying softly. 'Then we'll have to keep each other warm.'

Jimmy rolled his eyes, but as he couldn't think of a viable alternative to traipsing through the forest, he had no choice but to go along with it.

Jimmy had to admit that it wasn't as bad as he had imagined. The evergreens _were_ quite nice, the icicles _were_ rather pretty and it was undeniably wonderful that once they were far enough away from the village they could hold hands and pretend that they were just like any other couple out for a stroll.

_Just like the Bates'_, Jimmy thought idly and was instantly mortified with himself.

Jimmy started to hum to himself contentedly.

'What's that?' Thomas asked.

'One of the songs you gave me,' Jimmy said.

'Well, sing it properly then,' Thomas insisted.

'You want to hear me sing?'

'I would love to hear you sing!'

Jimmy laughed and licked his lips. He didn't usually sing in front of people, but he reminded himself that this wasn't 'people' it was 'person' and, more to the point, 'person who had seen him naked', so there was no reason to be shy.

'Chicago, Chicago, that toddlin' town,' he started tentatively. His voice seemed too loud in such a still place.

'Chicago, Chicago, I will show you around – I love it.'

He felt his nerves melt as the happiness of the song filled him.

'Bet your bottom dollar that you'll lose your blues in Chicago!'

He even forgot after the first few notes that Thomas was watching him as he sang – but at the end he peeked sideways for approval, not daring to look him straight in the face.

Thomas, looking still and intent, squeezed Jimmy's hand and broke into a smile.

'You're very, very good!'

Jimmy grinned, not keeping it a secret that he was pleased. 'You said yourself that there was no end to my talents!'

'I love being proved right,' Thomas said.

'And I love you,' Jimmy answered, naturally and without thinking.

Thomas froze and his eyes widened. 'You've never said that before.'

'Really? I think it all the time,' Jimmy said, going red. 'I must keep forgetting to say it out loud.'

As he finished speaking Thomas grabbed his waist and pulled them together, kissing him ferociously; his lips were cold but his breath was hot. Jimmy's hand curled around Thomas' neck, caution freely abandoned.


	12. Chapter 12

January brought hail, an upbeat Servants' Ball with a predictably accidentally drunk Moseley, whom Jimmy was beginning to suspect was the butt of a joke played by the gods, and the return of Lady Edith with a baby in tow.

'I've adopted a Swiss orphan,' she offered unconvincingly, holding a child who was a miniature version of herself. Apart from Lady Mary, they pretended to believe her. They might pretend also pretend in court, but there would be no avoiding the whispers behind the backs of hands.

January also brought a letter from Theo, who cheerfully announced that he'd been offered the job.

'I knew he'd do well once he managed to get an interview,' Thomas beamed at the letter.

'When does he start?' Jimmy asked.

'March – as soon as Miss Bunting leaves.'

'Blimey, they're not having a very long engagement, are they?'

'Well, he's known marital bliss,' Thomas said, chuckling naughtily. 'He's hardly going to want to delay.'

'Either that or she's already pregnant and they can't delay,' Jimmy added.

Mr Carson swooped down at that moment with jobs for everyone and started chivvying them to work. Thomas and Jimmy exchanged glances with roughly translated to 'I'm going to defile you later' before parting ways.

The only thing worse than having to polish silver for two hours was having to polish silver while listening to Moseley whistling for two hours; in spite of his best efforts, he was a hopelessly tuneless whistler.

'Miss Baxter and I are going for a glass of cider in the pub later,' he told Jimmy brightly as they carried trays of cakes upstairs; there was a slight (and very disturbing) swagger in his step.

Jimmy wondered how it might be best to extract information about Baxter and his Lordship but Moseley, ever guileless, offered the information himself.

'You know, I think I must have been mistaken about Miss Baxter not liking his Lordship,' he said. 'She was singing his praise yesterday – saying he was such a good employer and a principled family man – she thinks he's wonderful.'

_As if that's true! She's only realised she's let on too much and she's trying to fix the damage. Damn! I'm going to have to find out another way!_

What should he do about it? Would there be anything in Baxter's room? What information could there be? Incriminating letters? Jimmy couldn't think why she might be discussing her grievance with his Lordship with anyone in writing but you never knew.

Jimmy wasn't much one for taking risks. As much as he liked to talk big and defy authority, the thought of breaking a serious rule clenched unpleasantly around his innards. He wasn't even sure why it was so important that he find out – perhaps it was intuition that whatever it was was important and he had to know – or perhaps it was just the idea that Thomas' family, and by extension Thomas himself, had been wronged. It had become an inexplicable obsession.

Even Thomas didn't really understand.

'But why?' he asked, putting his nightclothes on.

Jimmy was sitting cross-legged on Thomas' bed, elbow propped on one knee so that his hand could support his chin. 'I don't know why you're bothering with pyjamas when I'm going to take them off in five minutes.'

'Principle, my love,' Thomas said seriously. He started washing his face in the ceramic basin.

'I can't explain it,' Jimmy admitted to Thomas' back. 'I just have a feeling that this is really important. His Lordship might have done something to your family – don't you want to know?'

'I don't see how he could have,' Thomas said dubiously. 'Let it go?'

Wiping his face dry with a towel and casting it aside, he put his left hand on Jimmy's cheek. Jimmy leant in to the touch automatically, relishing the rough and ruined and overly sensitive skin; it was the vulnerable part of himself that Thomas considered ugly and kept hidden from most people. Jimmy took the hand gently and turned it over, kissing along the lifeline.

In spite of his implicit acquiescence to Thomas, Jimmy had no intention of letting it go any time soon.

The very next day he screwed up the courage to go into Baxter's room; she was downstairs sewing, a little mountain of lace in front of her and unlikely to finish for a while.

Jimmy had never been on the women's side before. It was exciting and nerve-racking to be somewhere he most definitely shouldn't have been – and thrilling to know that behind the doors were beds and sheets that that entwined themselves around soft female bodies every night.

The floorboards creaking magnified in Jimmy's ear, his breathing a roaring gale, before he finally got to her room and slipped inside.

_Five minutes. You have five minutes._

He attacked the room as quickly and quietly as he could, straining to listen for anyone coming back. He didn't know what he would do if he was interrupted – hide in the wardrobe?

She had very few personal items, or at least any that seemed to be sentimental possessions – everything was practical and necessary: combs, stationary, a few books on mending and hairdressing, pins and buttons.

He didn't even notice that there weren't any photographs on display until he opened a drawer full of them – nearly twenty photographs, mostly of her and her husband, a tall, fair man. The last couple of photographs were of the Barrows – one of just the parents and one of the whole family.

It was very similar to the one which Thomas had on his shelf but taken a few years before; the faces of Mr and Mrs Barrow were noticeably less lined. There were six children.

_That's wrong!_

There were six children in Thomas' photograph – he wasn't born yet in this one so there ought to have been only five. One of them had disappeared in the meantime. Jimmy studied the picture to see who was unfamiliar but their ages were different, they all looked quite similar anyway and the photograph wasn't the best quality.

Jimmy found nothing else in the room and left, frustrated but wondering if the photograph was anything to go on. He couldn't exactly bring it up with Thomas after they'd more or less agreed not to pursue the matter, and Jimmy certainly wasn't keen on walking into another argument. Neither could he think of a way to work 'so, did any of your siblings die young?' naturally into a conversation.

It was around that time that Jimmy started spending most of his half-days which didn't coincide with Thomas' in Thirsk. He couldn't pretend to himself that it was for any other reason than the off chance of seeing Baxter, maybe with her friend again.

It was mid-February before he was successful.

He was having a cup of coffee in the little teashop in the centre when his patience was rewarded; Jimmy whipped his newspaper up just in time as Miss Baxter and Mrs Kennedy came in. They ordered coffees and sat mercifully close to Jimmy.

They talked about the weather for a bit (which was bitterly cold) and weddings (one coming up in May) and babies (Mrs Kennedy's eldest daughter was expecting). Would they ever say something incriminating against his Lordship or had he wasted his time? Jimmy's arms were starting to ache from holding the paper up.

'Oh, but I bet it's nice for you to be back in Yorkshire, never mind how much snow we get,' Mrs Kennedy said. 'Nothing beats good country air!'

'It's nice to be back where I grew up – but I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss London. I had so many friends there.'

'You have me!' Mrs Kennedy said, sounding a little offended.

'Of course, Esther, but you're the only one left from the old days – Mary Pryce moved away – and Winnie Evans, Berta Black – there's hardly anyone left in poor old Thirsk!'

'Aye,' Mrs Kennedy agreed. 'Everyone's off to the big cities these days.' The ladies let out twin sighs. 'Are any of your family still around?'

'No, they've all married and scattered about the country – Michael even moved to Canada, if you believe it – except for Thomas, he still lives around these parts. As much of a scoundrel as he can be, I'm glad to be near him.'

Jimmy tensed up nervously; it sounded as though they were getting on to something relevant!

'Is he still working at Downton Abbey?'

'Yes, he's the one who got me the job there – it doesn't hurt to have a brother as an under butler to put in a good word,' Baxter said.

'Yes, but…' Mrs Kennedy let the sentence dangle. There was a clink of china against china as she set her cup down. 'Well, nobody ever really believed that – you know that, don't you?'

'What?'

'That he's your brother.' Mrs Kennedy's voice wavered as she said this. Jimmy nearly ripped a hole in his newspaper from gripping it so tightly.

There was an awkward pause. Jimmy wanted to leap over his newspaper and shake Mrs Kennedy until she explained what she meant by that.

Baxter's voice was low and quiet but there was an edge of hardness in it when she finally said: 'I really don't know what you're going on about.'

It was painful, even for Jimmy, who wasn't even part of the conversation.

'I'm sorry, Phyl, I didn't mean to upset you – I just thought that since so much time has passed and – I'm just sorry.'

There was a scraping noise of the chair being pushed roughly back; she must have stood up.

'I really need to be heading back,' Baxter said.

'Let's not part on an argument! I've said I'm sorry!'

'I'm not angry.' The tone of her voice however suggested otherwise. 'There's a bus in ten minutes so I should really get going.'

Footsteps and a light jangle from the bell above the door marked her departure.

'Lord, why did I say anything?' Mrs Kennedy groaned. Jimmy lowered his newspaper; her face was buried in her hands. Snatching up her handbag, she left.

The owner came over to take Jimmy's cup. 'You look like you've had a nasty shock, if you don't mind me saying.' Jimmy barely heard her.

_What am I going to do with this information? What _is_ this information? How can I find out more?_

He needed a drink.

Unfortunately, having a drink turned into three and then five, and then losing track of time entirely, culminating in missing the last bus. There was nothing for it but to walk back.

It was very dark and very cold by the time Jimmy walked into the courtyard and he had become a human icicle somewhere along the way. Thomas was having a cigarette by the back door, relaxing against the wall without a care in the world. His eyes followed Jimmy as he got closer, head cocked quizzically to one side. Without saying anything, Jimmy walked straight into his arms and clutched his waist.

'I'm so cold,' he whispered into Thomas' neck.

'Where have you been?' Thomas asked, burying his free hand in Jimmy's hair.

'Missed the bloody bus.' Jimmy had had enough time on his walk home to ponder the issue and ultimately decide not to tell Thomas what he had overheard – at least not until he could find out more.

They went inside to the deserted kitchen, and Thomas made Jimmy a cup of tea, massaging his shoulders while he drank. Jimmy felt wonderfully cared for.

'I'm warm now,' Jimmy said, leaning his head back to rest on Thomas' stomach. 'You can take me up to bed.'

'Hm, not quite yet, let's wait a bit,' Thomas replied mysteriously.

'Why?'

'You'll see.'

Thomas sat down next to Jimmy, asking him questions about Thirsk. Jimmy did his best to stop the colour rising to his face but it was difficult when he knew he was lying by omission.

'Can we go up now?' Jimmy asked bluntly. 'I'm cold and tired and I want to crawl under the sheets and have you keep me warm.'

Thomas took out his pocket watch and looked at it for about a minute.

'Now we can go up,' he decided, a slow grin spreading over his face. 'It's midnight.'

'What's that have to do with the price of fish?'

Thomas snorted incredulously, taking Jimmy's hand. 'It's Valentine's Day. Come upstairs and see what I've done!'


	13. Chapter 13

'I forgot,' Jimmy said as Thomas took his hand and led him upstairs. 'I didn't get you anything.'

'Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something to give me,' Thomas answered salaciously, running a hand down Jimmy's spine. He looked quickly about the corridor once they got to the servants' quarters. 'Wait here a minute!'

Jimmy stood awkwardly, hoping that nobody would be seized by the urge to go to the toilet at that time of night.

'Right, come in.'

It was, if Jimmy were to be honest, a bit much; there was a crimson blanket on the floor with ivory silk cushions, a dozen flickering rose-coloured candles scattered around the room, a bottle of red wine and two glasses, a box of very indulgent-looking chocolates and petals everywhere. The scene didn't do much for Jimmy but, looking at Thomas, who was lit up, grinning and hoping that everything was good enough, he would rather have died than admit it. Something told him that Thomas had been preparing for this moment his entire life.

'It's beautiful,' Jimmy managed to say. 'I can't believe you went to so much effort.'

'I wanted to,' Thomas said simply and truthfully. 'Now lie down with me.'

There must have been some sort of rug under the blanket because Jimmy could barely feel the hard wooden floor underneath. He relaxed into the soft material, relishing being able to spread himself out properly. Thomas, on his side and propped up with an elbow, looked at him lovingly.

'Would you like to try a chocolate?' Thomas murmured.

'I would actually,' Jimmy said; he reached over for the box but Thomas pushed back his hand.

'I'll feed you.'

Thomas picked one of the chocolates and hovered it centimetres from Jimmy's lips teasingly. Jimmy tried to capture it by sticking out his tongue but Thomas would always pull it back.

'Shall I beg for it?' Jimmy asked demurely.

Thomas didn't answer; he lifted the chocolate further away.

'Please,' Jimmy whispered. He ran a hand up Thomas' neck, delicately tracing the skin. 'I want it so very much. Would you be so kind as to give it to me? Please.'

With a sharp intake of breath, Thomas lowered the chocolate to Jimmy's lips and allowed him to eat it, dropping his hand down Jimmy's body to stroke his inner thigh.

It was unlike anything Jimmy had every tasted, a kaleidoscope of rich flavours and textures with a melting truffle centre sending spikes of pleasure straight to his brain.

'You bought those chocolates?' Jimmy asked incredulously, forgetting for a second that he was supposed to be coy.

'Well, no technically _I_ didn't buy them,' Thomas admitted. 'They were left by Lord Gillingham and they might have got lost on their journey to Lady Mary.'

Thomas had to clamp a hand quickly over Jimmy's mouth to stop him giggling.

'Shhh, I'm not sure Carson will find my romantic intentions all that endearing!'

'You stole these from Lady Mary?'

'I thought you deserved them more,' Thomas said. 'Now that's enough chatter from you!'

'Sorry, Mr Barrow,' Jimmy whispered, casting his eyes downwards. 'Can I have another one? Please? I promise to behave – unless you don't want me to?' He flicked his eyes up quickly to Thomas' face; his pupils were dilated and his lips slightly parted.

Jimmy was fed another chocolate, then another, and each time Thomas would rake his hand up Jimmy's leg until it rested on his crotch. It was rather dizzying to experience two such distinct pleasures.

Holding a fourth chocolate in his palm, Thomas unbuttoned Jimmy's trousers and grasped his cock. Jimmy sighed, getting hard in Thomas' very talented hands; fingers danced familiarly along his shaft.

'Do you want this chocolate?' Thomas asked, pulling himself on top of Jimmy; he pushed the bottom of Jimmy's shirt up enough to kiss his stomach.

'Yes, please.'

He was on the verge of being torn in two by the velvety chocolate taste and Thomas' hot mouth on his cock; Jimmy threw his head back, biting his lip. Thomas hummed gently, sending delicious vibrations down into Jimmy's core.

Too quickly, he was gone, leaving Jimmy wanting more.

Thomas kissed him, on the lips this time, running his tongue over Jimmy's teeth.

'You taste good,' Thomas said, licking a smudge of chocolate from the corner of Jimmy's mouth.

Sitting up, Thomas poured some red wine into each glass; its rich plum colour seemed invitingly carnal to Jimmy's lust-tinted eyes. He thought that maybe there was something to this hyper-romantic chocolates and flowers thing.

Thomas wouldn't allow Jimmy to take the stem of his wineglass himself; instead, he put the glass to Jimmy's lips, his finger circling Jimmy's earlobe softly as he drank.

The wine was strong and warmed his entire skin, making his head spin after only one glass. He might have been used to drinking beer, but wine was something else entirely, something indulgent to the point of being hedonistic.

'Did you steal that, too?' Jimmy asked lazily, lying back down.

'Quite possibly,' Thomas teased, his fingers walking along the buttons of Jimmy's shirt; he slipped a finger inside, grazing Jimmy's nipple.

'Mm,' Jimmy moaned. 'God, that feels so good!'

_Am I drunk already? I sound so wanton! Well, don't pretend you don't like it because I see that look in your eyes whenever I make noises._

Jimmy moaned again, wriggling into the caress; he undid one of his shirt buttons so Thomas could slip his whole hand in, palming the nipple harshly. Jimmy dropped his head to one side languidly, letting Thomas kiss the sensitive skin there – because he would let Thomas do anything, really. At least he was having a hard time imagining anything he wouldn't let Thomas do to him when everything he'd tried so far had been delightful.

Thomas undid the remaining buttons of Jimmy's shirt and pushed it aside, kissing his collarbone and shoulder. Jimmy intercepted his mouth, bruising both their lips with a savage kiss.

'You're needy tonight, my love,' Thomas purred into his ear when he'd managed to pull away.

'I need you – I always need you,' Jimmy groaned; he tried to capture Thomas' mouth again but the older man evaded him.

'Do you want to try something different?' Thomas asked, taking his own clothes off. Jimmy felt that he ought to have been used to it by then, but every time he saw his lover naked it took him by surprise. _This is mine, now. We belong to each other._

'Probably,' Jimmy replied. 'What is it?'

Grinning, Thomas stood up and went to his drawer, coming back with two bright red silk scarves.

'What are these for?' Jimmy asked, letting the cold material run through his fingers.

Thomas leaned forward and hissed lecherously: 'They're for tying you up.' His eyebrows quirked up, silently asking if Jimmy was okay with that. In response, Jimmy offered up his wrists.

It was illicit but beautifully so. Jimmy had never given much thought to using anything in the bedroom apart from the bodies present (besides a liberal amount of lubrication), yet it felt very natural, as though it had always been leading to this.

Thomas took Jimmy's right wrist first, circling it with his finger as if it were a thing of great beauty and kissing the little bones there. When he was done cherishing it, he looped the red silk around and tied it firmly before repeating the task with Jimmy's left hand. Thomas then pushed Jimmy back slowly so that he was flat on his back again and lifted his arms above his head, knotting them both to the leg of the bed. Jimmy's breathing was nervous and shallow, yet he didn't feel degraded, he felt treasured.

Jimmy whimpered as Thomas teased him, tortured him with kisses which graced every millimetre of his skin but stayed clear of the place which needed kissing the most. Jimmy squirmed, trying to buck his hips upwards, aiming his neglected cock towards Thomas' mouth, but Thomas would always press him down sharply. Jimmy could only wait and be kissed: his ankles, his forehead, the crook of his elbow, underneath his chin, around his natural waist. Parts of his body to which he had never given much thought were being licked or suckled and they were being transformed from mundane to extraordinary, to esoteric sources of wonder; and all the while, Thomas' hand was groping the inside of his leg, stimulating him.

Jimmy jerked, straining at the silk which bound him as he felt Thomas' tongue poke wetly at his entrance. It was beyond divine – his tongue lapped eagerly and slipped in and out, making quite obscene smacking noises. Jimmy yanked harder against his bondage, burning with hot pleasure and desperate to touch himself, causing the scarves to bite into his hands.

Maddeningly, Thomas pulled away again, straying further up Jimmy's body, his lips following the path his spine made to his neck. Thomas' hands, his perfect one and its ugly twin, gripped Jimmy's with exhilarating strength.

'Don't move,' he whispered into Jimmy's neck, his erection digging into Jimmy's bum cheek. 'Don't struggle. Trust me, I'll give you everything you want.'

That was easier said than done – Jimmy couldn't help moving his bottom subtly, trying to direct Thomas inside him. Thomas instantly clamped on his hips, stilling him.

Thomas' hands stroked from Jimmy's wrists all along the inside of his arms, almost making Jimmy laugh as they passed his armpits. One hand settled on a nipple while the other strayed further south, delicately circling the head of his cock. It was leaking, twitching; Jimmy whimpered but did his best to remain calm.

'Good boy,' Thomas crooned.

He moved Jimmy's body easily, lying him on his front – he was unable to see what Thomas was doing from that angle, only feel the gentle caresses on his bum.

_Fuck me! Fuck me now!_ Jimmy begged silently.

'Jimmy, you have the most beautiful bottom I've ever seen,' Thomas sighed fondly.

'It looks even better with your cock shoved up it,' Jimmy suggested daringly. Thomas tutted in response.

'So crude, my darling!' His hands wandered further up, massaging his lower back. 'Honestly, such language from one as fair as you!'

'I'm sorry, Mr Barrow,' Jimmy mumbled, trying to get Thomas' hands to go back down via psychic powers. They mercifully returned.

At some point, Thomas must have retrieved his special pot because when the first finger penetrated Jimmy it was already slicked up. Jimmy mewled quietly and the familiar intrusion, his body opening up and welcoming it.

Thomas kissed his neck. 'Shh!'

Jimmy swallowed and tried to remain silent, but Thomas was taking an excruciatingly long time about it, longer than he ever had in preparing Jimmy; he seemed to be exploring, just as he had explored Jimmy's outside.

_More!_

Thomas must have understood because his fingers withdrew. His hands finding Jimmy's flat belly and his chin resting on Jimmy's shoulder, he slid in, filling Jimmy instantly. Thomas' hands tightened involuntarily and he let out a strained choking sound but he still managed to maintain his leisurely pace. He moved gently, savouring it; slowly blooming waves of heat radiated in Jimmy.

It was getting unbearable. Jimmy wanted to scream at Thomas to plough into him as hard and fast as he could but he knew he would only receive another chiding. He had to be as good as gold and he would eventually be given what he wanted because Thomas, after practically studying Jimmy for so many months, knew exactly what he wanted.

In truth, there was something nice about this romantic slowness as well. Jimmy was very conscious that he was being made love to rather than being fucked, and both had their time and place. Right now however, it felt like another form of torture.

No matter how agreeable the lovemaking, Jimmy still could have cried with relief when Thomas turned him back over so that they were facing each other and hitched Jimmy's legs over his shoulders.

'Thank God,' Jimmy groaned as Thomas thrust into him, his gratifyingly thick cock finding that sweet spot inside him and butting against it, again and again and again. Jimmy clawed Thomas' waist, chewing on his lip to stop himself crying out, pulling helplessly against the red scarves that held him prisoner. Thomas slate blue eyes were trained on Jimmy's face; he was smiling, overcome with pleasure.

They finished nearly simultaneously, Jimmy spattering Thomas' chest and Thomas spilling inside Jimmy, their sweat-soaked bodies pressed as much into each other as possible.

Thomas fell weakly next to Jimmy and freed him, pulling his wrists close to inspect the damage – they were marked red from all the pulling. Thomas sighed reproachfully, kissed them gently and let Jimmy go, finally free to wrap his arms around Thomas. He pulled a sheet off his bed and wrapped them together, keeping them both warm. Underneath the sheets, grinning at each other like children who had just made a fortress of blankets and pillows, Thomas held his hand, intertwining their fingers.

'Are you tired yet?' Thomas asked.

'I was, but I'm not now,' Jimmy said, stroking Thomas' hairy chest lethargically.

'Good, because we've still got several hours before dawn,' Thomas said, eyes glinting with promise. 'Let's have some more wine!'


	14. Chapter 14

Jimmy was thoroughly exhausted throughout the next day, his eyes burning from lack of sleep, and he was utterly disgusted at how well Thomas seemed to be functioning. The only thing which made him feel better (apart from the euphoria coursing through his veins) was the fact that Thomas had received a Valentine's Day card written in distinctly girly handwriting.

'Why do girls with plant names keep coming after me?'

Jimmy frowned and thought. 'The Dowager hasn't been making eyes at you, has she?'

'I meant Daisy – oh, this was ten years ago, at least.'

'And you were never tempted?' Jimmy teased.

Thomas kissed him slowly, one hand on Jimmy's stomach. 'Is it likely?

It was midday and they were alone in the boot room, Jimmy with a candlestick and Thomas with some of his Lordship's shoes to serve as excuses if Carson were to barge in.

Jimmy took the card from Thomas' hand and read in a high-pitch voice.

'_Your skin is like china, your hair the darkest of storm clouds and your lips like wine I long to taste. _My Lord, what has she been reading to come up with this!' Jimmy shook his head.

'No mocking my admirers, please!' Thomas admonished. 'A lot of thought was put into this card. I happen to hold it very dear to my heart.'

'Really?'

Thomas and Jimmy whipped their heads around; behind them, Ivy was peeking through the doorway, eyes filling with what appeared to be tears of joy.

'Er, of course,' Thomas said, looking uncomfortable. It was quite clear that Ivy had not caught the sarcasm in his voice. There was a real risk that his suppressed giggles would rip a hole in Jimmy's innards. 'You know how much I love compliments.'

Ivy sighed with dramatic happiness and wandered off in the direction of Mrs Patmore's screeches.

'So, when's the wedding?' Jimmy said seriously.

'Oh, shut up!'

The weather was getting incrementally better and Jimmy found himself in Thirsk again. He'd decided the best way to get more information about the Barrow family was to pretend to be one of them.

He started in the local pub.

'Hello, my name's James Barrow,' he introduced himself brightly, using his most people-pleasing smile. The name slid rather easily off his tongue, possibly because he's already been doodling it idly on his notebook for several months along with the occasional 'Thomas Kent', depending on what kind of mood he was in.

'I have cousins from around these parts,' he explained. 'Can you tell me if they still live here?'

He was getting precious little information apart from being told that they were a nice family but all their children had moved away. Still he couldn't bring himself to give up – sooner or later, someone would tell him something.

'Really, completely nice?' he questioned the elderly lady who worked at the haberdashery. 'There was never a faint air of scandal that lurked around their hearth.' She simply pursed her lips tightly as though keeping any incriminating words in and crossed her arms rather comically.

'What did you do today?' Thomas asked him later.

Jimmy knew he needed to lie but his brain was finding it difficult to conjure a clever falsehood with the distraction of Thomas languishing nakedly besides him, his skin glowing under the flicker of candlelight and a smile of sated satisfaction on his rosy lips. Jimmy found himself wondering casually what Thomas would look like with a little lipstick and maybe some of that kohl that all the Americans in Hollywood were putting around their eyes these days.

'Just went into the village. The weather was bad so I couldn't be bothered to go very far – but I couldn't just stay here either. I feel as though I've not had my half day if I stay cooped up in my room,' Jimmy said, settling his head on Thomas' chest as a means of avoiding eye contact. 'How was your day?'

'Same as always. I went into the kitchen to tell them to make tea for the guests and Ivy started fluttering her lashes at me. She's getting awfully persistent, clutching onto me like, well, Ivy.'

'Well, she's your problem now,' Jimmy said, yawning, happy that the subject of where he went to in his free time had been dropped. No sooner had he relaxed than Thomas started again with forced nonchalance.

'So, it was just the Downton village you went to? Just by yourself?' The concern in his voice made Jimmy lift his head up and study his lover's eyes quizzically.

'Yes, why?'

'Just checking. You never seem to give much detail, that's all,' Thomas said, shrugging as well as he could in his supine position. 'I wondered.'

'Wondered about what?'

'Whether you were getting bored with me maybe,' Thomas said lightly. 'Whether you were looking for some entertainment.'

'You think I'm being false to you?' Jimmy said, blood thumping in his ears. 'How could you think that?'

Thomas scrutinised him. 'You know how much I love you – how much I want you, even if it's only a part of you. You don't have to lie about it. I understand that you're young and it's difficult to be with one person when—'

Jimmy cut him off. 'I can't believe you're saying this! That you can trivialise what we have!'

He sat up abruptly and swung his legs over the side of the bed, burying his face in his hands. He felt Thomas' hot palm on his shoulder.

'I'm not trivialising it. I'm saying you don't need to lie. We can be honest with each other about anything.'

Jimmy's breathing was constricted and his eyes stung with tears. 'You said that you understood what it was like to be young. So, would you have found it difficult to be faithful when you were my age?'

'Maybe,' Thomas said softly. He meant 'yes'.

'And now?'

'I suppose I've become more romantic in my old age,' Thomas said. His hand massaged Jimmy's shoulder and pulled at it, trying to get him back into bed. Jimmy yielded and allowed himself to be tugged back into Thomas' arms.

'I'm not cheating on you,' Jimmy said quietly. 'I'll never want to be with anyone other than you, and I don't think that age has anything to do with that.'

'I love you, too,' Thomas said, stroking his arm.

Still, Jimmy probably needed to be more careful, especially since Thomas wasn't the only one who was beginning to notice that Jimmy vanished as soon as he was allowed off for his half day and didn't come back until late.

Daisy, of all people, brought it up.

'Is it to do with Thomas?' she asked, taking biscuits out of the oven while he loitered around hoping for a cheeky snack.

'Why would it be?' he asked defensively.

'Don't know?' she said.

'Besides, aren't you supposed to call him Mr Barrow?' Jimmy reminded.

'I do to his face.'

One day, he managed to get more information out of the twee little man who worked in the post office; Jimmy had come to realise that the median age for inhabitants of Thirsk was a hundred and two.

'Aye, nice people,' he said gruffly, his hand shaking as he handed Jimmy his change. 'Lived over in Redding Lane, God bless their souls. All their children have moved on – into the big wide world. All you youngsters do these days is move away, looking for the next adventure!'

Jimmy hung his head self-effacingly and apologised on behalf of youngsters everywhere.

He wandered over to Redding Lane and walked the length of it. He immediately recognised the little cottage from the photograph of the Barrow family and, even if he hadn't, the fact that the downstairs had been converted into a clock shop was an obvious clue.

It was large for a cottage with a neat garden and a freshly painted sign saying 'Peterson's Clocks' in a vibrant shade of grass green.

Coming up with an idea, Jimmy pushed the door open a few minutes later, holding out his pocket watch tentatively.

'Hello?' Jimmy called.

A man walked briskly from the back room, wiping oil off his hands with an old cloth.

'Sorry about that, mate,' he said with an easy friendliness. 'How can I help you?'

'It just stopped working?' Jimmy said, proffering his watch and shrugging helplessly.

'Well, let's have a look at her, shall we?' the man said cheerfully, taking the watch and studying it.

'Her?'

'Well, clocks are living things aren't they? That's what I was always taught,' he said, prying the back open gently and tracing a finger over the little parts as delicately as if they were living organs.

'Who taught you that?' Jimmy asked.

'Old Mr Barrow who owned this shop and trained me up. Everything I know came from that man!'

'Really? Where's he now? Retired?'

'Nah, he died years ago. Sold me his shop before he got too old to work, and at a good price, mind, bless his heart!'

The man worked for a few minutes in tense silence before exclaiming: 'Why, one of the parts is clean missing! How'd that happen, lad?'

Jimmy pretended to be bewildered. 'It must have just fallen out,' he said.

In the end, he had to buy the new part.

'I'm a relative of Mr Barrow's, actually,' Jimmy said before he left. 'Second cousin. Never met him personally but I heard a lot about him from my father. He was a good man?'

'Aye, a kinder soul I never met,' the man said warmly, clapping a hand on Jimmy's shoulder. 'Couldn't bear to see anyone suffer. Would take kittens in from the rain and give them a bit of milk and the like.'

'What about a baby?' Jimmy asked, shocked at his own daring.

'I daresay he'd be kind to any orphans, if he met any,' the man agreed, looking confused at the question. Clearly, he didn't know what Jimmy was talking about.

'Thank you,' Jimmy said pointedly, gripping his watch and leaving, heading back to the bus stop; he kicked a stone disappointedly. He felt as though he were at a dead end.


	15. Chapter 15

Jimmy could have given up; he was, in fact, on the verge of doing so. He'd managed to shake every shred of information available out of Thirsk and it was disheartening how little he had actually learnt.

He huffed impatiently to himself and looked upwards. It was a fine, bright blue March day and he had gone there that morning reflexively, because it wasn't even an option not to. Perhaps it was time to rethink, or at least to put what he was beginning to call 'The Curious Incident of the Disappeared Child and a Brother Who Was Never a Brother' out of his mind for a while.

He walked slowly and utterly aimlessly along the road, the odd passer-by giving him a nod of recognition and reminding him that he was really spending too much of his life in the godforsaken little town.

'Well, if it isn't Sherlock Holmes.' Theo was standing outside the school, half-leaning on the low stone wall and smoking with greater flourish than was strictly needed.

'What do you mean?' Jimmy asked coldly.

'That I've only lived in Thirsk a few weeks and I've already heard all about the strange young man who turns up every so often with questions about the Barrow family to whom nobody believes he belongs,' Theo told him, evidently enjoying Jimmy's embarrassment. 'You,' he said, pointing his cigarette at Jimmy accusingly, 'are up to something!'

'I think it's best you leave me alone,' Jimmy muttered.

'But I'm not the one who just strolled past your place of work, am I?'

Jimmy had no answer to that so he did the next best thing, which was to fix Theo with a sound glare. Unperturbed, Theo held out his cigarette packet, offering one. Feeling that it would be churlish to refuse, Jimmy took one and leant against the wall.

'So, shouldn't you be inside?' Jimmy asked, nodding at the building. 'Filling the little brats' heads with dates and Shakespeare quotes?'

'Four o'clock, Jim, school's over,' Theo reminded. Jimmy hated being called 'Jim' but didn't want to give Theo the satisfaction of winding him up. 'And they're not all little brats. Most of them don't even need caning. I've been told that schoolchildren in the country are far better behaved and I ought to be grateful because if I were in London I'd be surrounded by artful dodgers and insolent little beggars. _Children today aren't what they were like when I was young_,' Theo mocked. '_We respected our elders!_'

'How do you find it here?' Jimmy asked.

'Thirsk isn't so bad. I like peace and quiet. I enjoy working at the school and having a second chance to make something of myself.' He laughed sharply. 'Before the war, I used to see myself lecturing at Oxford. I had big plans to go to university and be top of the class, publish a few papers and eventually nurture the brightest minds in the country. This is as close as I'm going to get. Just as banging away on an old piano in the Servants' Hall is as close to the West End as you're going to get.'

Jimmy must have looked hurt because Theo's expression softened and he touched Jimmy gently under the chin. 'Buck up, Sunshine. Dreams don't put food in your belly or fuel on the fire. A secure job is worth a thousand dreams, that's what I've learnt!'

Jimmy smiled back but it felt cynical on his face. His dreams were still there, small and feeble but not dead yet.

'How's Thomas?' Theo asked. He had an air of disinterest about him but it was exaggerated, the pitch of his voice too high and he avoided eye contact. Jimmy found jealousy difficult to control at such times.

'Why do you want to know?'

Theo laughed. 'Because he's my friend, pet. Because it's a natural question to ask. Honestly, why do you feel so threatened by me?'

'You used to sleep with the man I'm in love with.'

'Maybe. But you're currently sleeping with my best friend – I'm entitled to be overprotective.'

'Thomas doesn't need protecting from me,' Jimmy argued. 'I love him.'

'Hm, but are you being honest? What does he think about you poking around in his hometown?'

Jimmy panicked, shot a frozen glance at Theo's innocently smiling face.

'Don't tell him!' Jimmy whispered urgently.

'You're going to have to give me a good reason not to – like telling me what on Earth you're playing at for a start!'

He couldn't see any way of avoiding the truth; he hissed and gripped the stone in his hands, bested by this pretty and infuriating tart.

'I'm waiting, Jimmy,' Theo said; smoke curled from his lips like a dragon.

'I overheard something the other day. Apparently, Thomas sister isn't really his sister and everyone here knows about it, but nobody will tell me anything.' He glanced over. 'You said they don't believe me saying I'm a cousin?'

Theo looked rather patronising. 'Well, knowing their names might be an actual start. Saying that you're related to Mr and Mrs Barrow doesn't carry much weight. You don't seem to have the makings of a cunning sleuth.'

'Well, how am I supposed to find out their names? I can't ask Thomas without it sounding suspicious!'

Theo chuckled. 'It sounds like you're asking me for help.'

Jimmy was loth to admit it but he was. He'd made very little headway on his own and was hopeful that somebody else might offer a fresh perspective. Besides, Theo was supposed to be intelligent and all that.

'I thought you didn't like me,' Theo continued, half-teasing, half-serious.

'Well, I don't like the thought of you,' Jimmy explained.

Theo finished his cigarette and pushed himself away from the wall.

'Come on then,' he said to Jimmy. 'I have an idea.'

Jimmy followed him, intrigued. 'Where are we going?'

They walked away from the school and towards the church.

'It might not be in this one, but there aren't too many churches here in Thirsk; we should be able to find it today. When did Thomas' parents die?' Theo asked.

Jimmy sifted through all the personal conversations that he's had with Thomas. 'Twelve years ago. Within a few weeks of each other. He couldn't bear to be without her.'

'Well, isn't that just quaint. Nothing is quite as nauseating as true love. So we're looking for 1911.'

Jimmy was still confused. 'We're looking for 1911 where?'

'In the graveyard, pet. People's names are usually on their gravestones.'

The simplicity nearly knocked Jimmy sideways. He stopped walking for a few seconds and stared at Theo. Theo stopped walking, too, and turned to face Jimmy.

'Don't just stand there – you're wasting my time! Shake a leg!'

Jimmy wished that Theo wasn't coming, too, and he was rather tempted to say that he'd helped enough, but he also thought he might hit another dead end by himself, so he held his tongue.

Theo's curiosity had clearly been piqued by the task of finding out what Thomas' parents were called, largely because he seemed to like puzzles. The right information wasn't important, it was the process of finding it that he wanted and to relish the fact that he had won.

There was no grave named Barrow in the first graveyard, or at least not from the right time; nor was there any in the second. They went to the third church – by this time it was getting darker and Jimmy hoped they weren't going to be mistaken for grave robbers.

'Here it is,' Theo said softly.

Jimmy hurried over eagerly.

_Annabel Barrow_

_August 12__th__ 1843 – February 6__th__ 1911_

_Also her Beloved Husband, William Barrow_

_July 4__th__ 1840 – March 20__th__ 1911_

_Sorely Missed_

Jimmy stared at the grave. He'd never liked visiting them; they always made him feel strange and unreasonably angry – they were too calm, too disconnected from the reality of death. He'd only visited his parents' grave once to put flowers on so that people wouldn't think he was unfeeling. Guilt gnawed at him but he simply couldn't consolidate the cold ground with living, laughing human beings that lived in his thoughts. It wasn't right that they should be sealed in earth.

_Sorely missed_. Did Thomas miss them? He wouldn't have been much older losing his parents than Jimmy had been losing his.

They'd been in the war together, he and his father. Jimmy had felt so proud standing next to his father in his uniform, shoulder to shoulder. His father hadn't yet turned forty; he was tall and strong like an oak, his thick brown hair barely starting to grizzle. They'd always been close as Jimmy didn't have any siblings; he was originally meant to be the oldest of a large brood but his mother's complicated and ultimately unsuccessful second pregnancy had left her unable to have any more children, so all their love and time and energy had been poured into Jimmy. He'd been spoilt and he knew it, their clever, talented, beautiful, funny, perfect little angel. And in less than a year he'd gone from being cherished to being nobody. Unloved and unimportant – until he met Thomas.

Mum had kept Dad's death a secret.

'I couldn't have worried you, not when you were out there fighting the Germans. I was worried what grief might do to you. It might have distracted you at the wrong moment,' she had apologised, gripping Jimmy's hand but he'd pulled away from her, not ready to hear anything to justify the unjustifiable.

She had been feverish when he walked out but nothing very serious, nothing to concern anyone. She'd died quickly and without fuss with her only child still angry at her.

Jimmy had walked in, ready to forgive, ready to hug her close, but she had left the shell of her body behind.

'But she was fine a few hours ago,' Jimmy had mumbled to his Aunt Sally sitting in the chair next to his mother's body. 'There must be some mistake. She's going to get better. She's going to get better, isn't she,' he said firmly, his voice getting too loud as he turned to face the doctor who was packing his things into a black bag.

'Don't give up on her,' he said angrily. He pressed a hand into his mother's forehead. She was still warm and soft. 'She's going to be fine!'

Aunt Sally pulled him away quietly and embraced him tightly. It was rather a shocking experience – she was a reserved woman who never showed emotion and had never hugged anyone before to the best of Jimmy's knowledge. He didn't understand why they were all throwing in the towel so easily.

'She's with Howell now, my love,' Aunt Sally said, her voice quavering. 'They're both happy in heaven with the Lord and all the angels.'

Theo broke Jimmy out of his reverie. 'Are you quite alright?' He put a hand on Jimmy's cheek and brought it away damp. Jimmy hadn't even realised he'd been crying.

'I really don't like these places,' he explained.

'I can see that, pet,' Theo said quietly. 'Come over here, look, I've got something to show you; I've made a discovery.'

A few rows behind the grave of Annabel and William Barrow and a little to the left, Theo showed Jimmy to another grave. Jimmy had to squint to make out the writing in the gloom.

_Here Lies Eleanor Barrow_

_Beloved Daughter of William and Annabel_

_November 1__st__ 1874—May 11__th__ 1889_

_A Flower Plucked too Soon_

'Thomas' sister,' Jimmy mused.

'Look at the dates,' Theo urged.

Jimmy looked at them, wondering what Theo was getting at. 'She died young.'

Theo snorted impatiently. 'Honestly, you are the worst boyfriend. You need to be aware of things like this!'

'Things like what!' Jimmy shot back, stung.

Theo jammed his hands in his pocket and grimaced at the headstone.

'In battle, as I'm sure you recall, when you're waist deep in mud, you hold on to the little comforts, the tiny pleasures. They can be the only things stopping you from swallowing one of your own bullets.

When Thomas told me it was his birthday, I gave him my last cigarette. A little bit of tobacco rolled up in flimsy paper was more real and relevant at that moment than all the gas and tanks and guns the Germans had to throw at us. It was torture giving it to him but I couldn't regret it – he said it was the best birthday present he'd ever had!'

Jimmy's insides went cold at these words and at the fond, nostalgic expression on Theo's face. How had Thomas thanked him?

'Why are you telling me this?' Jimmy asked, his voice hard.

Theo smiled without amusement. 'Because, my friend, that day was May 11th.'

Jimmy rapidly counted in his head. 'Thomas was born in '89 – the day she died. He was born the day she died?'

Theo nodded. 'How coincidental! Of course, if your unmarried fifteen-year-old daughter is left in the family way you're hardly going to shout it from the rooftops, are you? I reckon she died in childbirth,' Theo mused. 'Passing the baby off as their own child was the only thing they could have done but it would have fooled no one.'

Jimmy stared at the name carved in stone and thought of the body underneath, rotten away by thirty-four years, which had once held Thomas Barrow inside it.

'How can we be sure?' Jimmy asked Theo.


	16. Chapter 16

There didn't seem to be much point in telling Thomas what he had learnt. As far he was concerned, he was the youngest child of two loving parents, so who was Jimmy to tell him that he was actually an orphan bastard? It was best forgotten.

_She was fifteen. Barely more than a child herself._

Jimmy hardly had time to think about it, anyway, because the Abbey was so busy. The family were getting ready to head over to London for the season, which meant new dresses for the ladies of the house. Though Lady Edith was listlessly unconcerned with clothes shopping, Lady Rose was insatiable and even Lady Mary seemed to have taken a renewed interest in it.

'Tenner bet says she'll be engaged before the year is out,' Thomas predicted, too quietly for Carson to hear.

To add to the chaos, Mr and Mrs Bates had announced that they would soon become parents.

'I'm about four months gone, so it's safe to tell people,' Anna had said, glowing. Ivy and Daisy had darted over to rub her belly. 'I'm going to help Lady Mary interview replacements to take over when I get too big.'

A string of hopefuls marched through Downton the following week (none of which were called Edna).

'Blimey, she ain't half picky,' Jimmy muttered, seeing the latest middle-aged woman being unceremoniously shown the door.

'Lady Mary has every right to hold high standards for her personal servant, James,' Carson reprimanded severely. 'That is how things are done at Downton!'

Eventually, Lady Mary seemed content with a Miss Summers, an animated and energetic woman in her mid-thirties. Her hair was slightly more fashionable than a servant's should be and she kept telling the housemaids about a dashing young man in Easingwold who wrote her the most flattering letters and took her to the pictures but she did her job efficiently and without complaint.

As it was, Miss Summers had to take over from Anna sooner than was expected – hers was a tiring pregnancy and by six months she was told by Dr Clarkson in no uncertain terms that she needed to keep off her feet as much as possible.

'The poor thing,' Ivy sighed. 'But then I suppose she isn't as young as she was. I'd like to still be in the prime of my life when I give birth to my first.'

'What makes you so sure someone else will ask you after you turned down Alfred?' Daisy quipped.

'I have a feeling,' Ivy said; Thomas, his eyes on his newspaper, didn't see the meaningful look she was giving him.

Jimmy didn't have time to fret over Anna's swollen ankles or Ivy's woefully mistaken plans for marital bliss. May was here, which meant Thomas' birthday was imminent.

He needed to get something and he needed it to be good. Now, Jimmy had never been very good at getting presents for other people, and he had never felt the urge to be any good at it until Thomas. He'd made a brave stab at it for Christmas but, as much as Thomas had lauded his lavender-smelling soap, Jimmy had suspected that it was mostly an act.

The trouble was, getting someone a thoughtful gift was tied quite closely in Jimmy's mind with 'being romantic', something Jimmy didn't exactly excel at. He enjoyed Thomas being romantic but providing the romance himself was another thing entirely.

First of all, what did Thomas like?

He liked clocks, he liked wine and travelling, he liked the finer things in life, he liked mystery novels (he always tried to guess the ending but never got it right) and he liked romance. Of course, he also liked Jimmy, but Jimmy could hardly give Thomas something he already had. He thought for a second of lying nakedly in wait of Thomas with a bow around his cock but quickly dismissed the idea.

Jimmy spent as much of his half-days in York as he could, scouring the shops.

'It needs to be wonderful,' he told the bookshop girl urgently with only minutes before the shops closed.

'For your sweetheart?' she asked, looking sympathetic.

'Yes and he – she's very high-maintenance – and romantic,' he added. 'She likes travelling to other countries. She visited America once and thought it was brilliant.'

'Hm,' the girl said, considering. 'What about Italy? Italy's a romantic country.'

'Yes, I think so,' Jimmy agreed.

'Well, this is one of my favourites,' she said, plucking a book from its shelf. 'A young widow travels to Italy and marries the son of an Italian dentist? There's a lot of falling in love involved.'

'That sounds exciting,' Jimmy said. Also, the cover was nice but he was afraid saying so would make him come across as uncultured.

He'd managed to find the book, some cufflinks with pictures of clocks on them that he thought Thomas might like and a bottle of wine which wasn't too bad.

'You are exceptionally difficult to buy for,' he told Thomas as soon as he got home.

'No, I'm not – I like anything as long as it's stylish,' Thomas said, grinning. He meandered over to the brown packages which Jimmy had laid down on his bed. 'What did you get me?'

'No looking,' Jimmy chided. 'Not until your actual birthday!'

'Can I at least feel the paper and try to guess?' Thomas said, his fingers hovering above the packages, awaiting permission.

'Absolutely not,' Jimmy said, snatching it away.

Jimmy spent the next few days slightly worried that the anticipation would lead to an anti-climax. After all, his gifts weren't that special. Still, he'd given it his best shot.

'The girl at the shop said it was really good!' Jimmy explained as Thomas pushed the brown paper aside. 'It's got lots of people falling in love and it's set in Italy.'

'_Where Angels Fear to Tread._ E.M. Forster,' Thomas read.

'Do you think you'll like it?' Jimmy asked anxiously.

Thomas answered him with a kiss, pulling Jimmy onto his lap and wrapping his arms around him.

'I love everything you've given me,' Thomas reassured.

'Even the cufflinks? They're not silly?'

'I'll wear them every day!'

Jimmy's hands found the back of Thomas' neck and he gripped it.

'I'm not very good at this lovey-dovey stuff. But I want to be. For you, I want to be so much.'

Thomas sighed and stroked Jimmy's hair. 'But you don't have to be – I fell in love with a vain, self-centred darling, remember!'

'I'm not that vain,' Jimmy protested. Thomas instantly started to mess up Jimmy's hair; he batted his hands away before admitting: 'Alright, _alright_ – I'm vain, then! But it takes one to know one.'

The family headed to London a week later and the entire case of Thomas' family and the secret they had tried to hide from the rest of the village fell further and further to the back of Jimmy's mind. He might have forgotten it altogether had something not happened to remind him of it.

It was late June when a telegram came to Grantham House from Yorkshire.

'Anna's gone into labour,' Bates said dully, reading the paper. 'It's six weeks too early.' He glanced up at Carson. 'I need to be with her.'

He left with everybody's best wishes and lunch was a sombre affair downstairs.

'You'll have to dress his Lordship tonight, Mr Barrow,' Carson told Thomas.

Thomas glanced sideways at Jimmy. 'Why not let James have a go? It would be an extra feather in his cap if he knew how to dress a gentleman.'

With Carson's approval, Jimmy went up that night to dress his Lordship; the Earl glanced in surprise at Jimmy as he entered, head low in respect.

'So you'll be looking after me this evening, James,' he said conversationally.

'Yes, my lord.'

'I expected Barrow,' his Lordship continued good-naturedly. 'I suppose Carson wanted you to have the experience.'

'Yes, my lord.'

There were a few minutes of silence as Jimmy worked; he was slightly nervous and kept running through the things Thomas told him in his head.

_Just think – you're seeing him in his underwear! How can you possibly be intimidated by a man in his underwear? If you think about it, you'll have the upper hand, not him – he's just a plonker in his pants!_

Thomas' words made Jimmy feel a bit better.

'Speaking of Barrow, how are things going between the two of you?' his Lordship asked. 'No more awkwardness there, I presume?'

Jimmy did his level best not to blush. 'No, my lord, we get on well now – it's water under the bridge.'

'Good,' the Earl said.

His Lordship always had to be sure that Thomas was alright, Jimmy realised. Even though he didn't seem to like him very much, he still took an interest in his well-being that went above and beyond the concern an employer usually showed for their staff. Would it be overstepping the mark to bring that up? Jimmy reasoned that whether it was overstepping the mark or not, he was unlikely to be in the position to bring it up again.

'You seem very invested in Mr Barrow, my lord, if you don't mind me saying,' Jimmy said, trying not to sound as though he were poking his nose in where it didn't belong even though that was precisely what he was doing.

'Well, yes, I suppose. His family have a history of serving the Crawleys – and there's the fact that he's worked here for thirteen years – so I do tend to feel responsible.'

Jimmy had to stop himself from smiling at the thought of Thomas' expression if he heard anyone thinking they were responsible for him. He had an uncurbable, catlike independence about him and he would not be 'looked after' unless, of course, it were in a sexual way.

'I didn't know his family used to work for you as well, my lord,' Jimmy said, careful to keep his voice sounding conversational.

'Yes, his mother worked for us before she got married and his sister did, too, some years ago.'

'Did his sister leave to get married?' Jimmy asked. It wasn't a strange question – that was why most women left service, after all.

'No.' His Lordship's voice sounded lifeless and detached. 'She was taken ill, poor thing. Eleanor. She was only young.' He paused. 'Consumption. I always felt guilty about her death. The servants' quarters were so damp and cold and draughty back in the eighties – a lot of servants fell ill. It wasn't any worse than anywhere else in the country but it preyed on my mind all the same. One of the first things I did when I inherited was to make sure that the attics were fit for human habitation.'

'That was very thoughtful of you, my lord.' It was difficult to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but Jimmy thought he just about managed it.

The earl smiled. 'So, to answer your question, it is mainly to right a wrong that I take an interest in Barrow – because we allowed his sister to get so ill in our care.'

His conversation with Lord Grantham, far from clarifying things in Jimmy's mind, muddied them further. Every time he thought he understood what had happened, a new piece of truth caused him to rethink. Had Theo guessed incorrectly? Had it really been chance that Thomas had been born the day his sister died?

'You look troubled, my love?' Thomas whispered to him in the hallway, daring to touch his hand. It sent illicit shivers up Jimmy's skin; at Grantham House he was being forced to share a room with Moseley and was feeling very deprived and sorry for himself. He had to stop himself from lunging at Thomas and wrapping his legs around his waist. 'Did you make a mistake dressing Lord G?'

'No,' Jimmy said, forcing a smile. 'I remembered everything you said – I'm tired, that's all!'

_There's also the fact that Eleanor Barrow might have been your sister or might have been your mother, and she might have died of tuberculosis or she might have died during childbirth - and I need to find your old lover because he's cleverer than me and will probably know how to find out what's what._


	17. Chapter 17

The family arrived back in Yorkshire, tired from the season, with even more tired servants in tow.

'And now we have to bloody unpack – wonderful!' Jimmy muttered gloomily. Thomas winked at him surreptitiously as Jimmy tried to calculate how to let Moseley carry as many of the heavy things as possible.

Branson loitered in the hallway for what appeared to be no reason whatsoever with his daughter in his arms as the servants carried all the luggage inside. Although Branson didn't technically live in the abbey since getting married, he still spent a lot of time there as the manager.

'Mr Barrow,' Miss Sybbie squealed as soon as she saw Thomas, stretching her arms out and leaning forward. Branson, rather reluctantly and looking slighted, set her down do she could toddle over and grab the under butler's legs.

'Hello, Miss Sybbie! Have you been a good girl while I've been away?' Thomas asked her. She nodded ebulliently, her curls bouncing.

Thomas helped Jimmy carry one of the heavy cases to the attic.

'You'd make a good father,' Jimmy told him.

Thomas laughed in response, but there was pleasure in his eyes. 'Well, yes, of course, that goes without saying. I'd be the best. If I had a little girl, I'd treat her like a princess.' He looked wistful for a second.

That evening, as soon as he'd inhaled his dinner, Jimmy gave an exaggerated yawn and stretch.

'Well, I'm beat,' he said, getting to his feet. 'I'll be asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow and sleep like a log. I'll be dead to the world.'

'Care to use any more popular sayings, James?' Mrs Hughes asked with good-natured sarcasm.

Upstairs, he washed quickly and pulled off his shirt. When it was half-way over his head, he felt fingertips brush across his chest like feathers.

'I didn't hear you come in,' Jimmy said. 'You should think about retraining as a spy if you ever want a change of career.'

Thomas giggled into Jimmy's neck. 'Maybe I should. I worry sometimes that if I stay here I'll end up becoming Carson.'

'But you're so much better looking,' Jimmy reminded.

Thomas fingertips gripped harder, leaving marks as they went. 'I've missed your skin. I've missed how soft and smooth it is.'

'It won't be smooth forever.'

'No. But I want the privilege of watching it change.'

His hands traced along Jimmy's belly, along the fair hair below his navel, the slightly protruding veins – they skimmed the bones of his hips, the muscles of his waist – circling back to follow his spine – creeping up and resting on his shoulder blades – his arm came over his chest in a half-hug from behind and Jimmy was touched again on his collarbone, his chest and nipples – he was being felt all the way through, his ribs and heart and lungs being caressed.

'Listen to that,' Thomas growled raggedly in his ear.

'What?' Jimmy couldn't hear anything.

'The sound of privacy. Come here, delicious!' Thomas bit into Jimmy's shoulder making him cry out. 'You taste so nice.'

'You know that's not the best-tasting part of me,' Jimmy said suggestively, leading Thomas hand down and placing it on his cock.

'Oh, really?' Thomas said with mock innocence, not removing his hand but not moving it either. Frustrated, Jimmy gyrated into the cup of Thomas' hand.

'You're an awful tease,' Jimmy complained.

'But in a good way?'

'In the best way,' Jimmy said, moaning with relief as Thomas started to stroke him through the rough fabric of his trousers.

Thomas pushed Jimmy onto his bed and slid his trousers and underwear down so that his erection sprung free. With one look of gleeful naughtiness, Thomas swallowed him whole.

It was quick, ecstatic and decidedly messy, as was the returned favour – but then, it had been a while, or at least it had by their standards.

Jimmy crawled into Thomas' arms and the older man kissed the tip of his nose affectionately.

'We're going to York tomorrow,' Thomas told him. 'I have a surprise for you!'

'I won't sleep from excitement,' Jimmy said but his eyelids were already beginning to droop.

Jimmy liked surprises; he liked that he was being thought of and that something lovely was waiting quietly in his future. What he liked less was that on the bus on the way over to York, Theo got on, flashing Thomas his most charming smile. Things were bound to get awkward.

'Is this my surprise?' Jimmy asked Thomas, a little crestfallen.

'No, Theo's just coming with us.'

Jimmy gave Theo a very suspicious glance.

'And it's not a three-way, you naughty boy!' Theo said with a smirk. An old lady in front of him cast a scandalised, but also slightly titillated, glower at him.

The surprise was York Royal Theatre, a stone gothic building which gave the impression it was cemented together by song and excitement.

'Are we seeing a play?' Jimmy asked hopefully.

'Not exactly,' Thomas said.

'Knock 'em dead, kiddo,' Theo said cheerfully in a faux American accent, clapping Jimmy on the back.

'What's that supposed to mean?'

Jimmy felt a strangled sense of panic as he was guided towards the front door, where a sparkling, feathery woman asked which part he was auditioning for.

'Otis Hooper,' Theo said, giving Jimmy a little push forward.

The woman, obviously not sensing the total terror that Jimmy was feeling, handed him a sheet and beckoned him inside. Thomas and Theo grinned and wished Jimmy good luck as though they weren't total bastards for doing this to him.

'You have ten minutes to look over the lines, dearie. We want to hear you sing, as well – anything of your choosing!'

She left Jimmy with a smile of encouragement and he sat down next to a spotty young man with carroty hair whose lips moved nervously as he read over his script.

Half an hour later, Jimmy was back out on the street, blinking in the summer sunlight. Thomas and Theo were sitting on a low wall, waiting for him.

'So…' Thomas prompted.

'It was awful,' Jimmy groaned, shaking his head. His lines had come out wooden and static, and he had heard every screech and waver in his voice as he sang 'Send Me Away with a Smile'. 'They'll send me a letter in the next week or so to let me know.'

'How nerve-racking,' Theo said seriously.

'I know now how Alfred felt while he was waiting to hear from that stupid hotel,' Jimmy muttered.

'Well, let's go for a drink to stop you worrying,' Theo said brightly. 'Thomas can pay – he earns the most!'

Thomas rolled his eyes but didn't complain; when they arrived at the pub, he willingly went up to buy them all beers.

Knowing he wouldn't have much time, Jimmy leaned in towards Theo.

'What if you were wrong about Eleanor Barrow?'

'Sorry?'

'About her being Thomas' mother. I was told she died of consumption because of poor living conditions while working at Downton.'

Theo shrugged. 'Maybe she did. Maybe I was wrong. It would explain this Baxter lady dislikes the lord – his family would have been responsible for her illness, or at least in her eyes.'

'But how do we know for certain?'

'Do we need to? Would this make any difference to Thomas' life?'

'Would what make any difference to my life?' Thomas asked, holding three pints and looking suspicious.

Theo looked supremely concerned and studied his nails while Jimmy explained to Thomas what he'd been trying to find out.

Thomas was silent as he considered the implications of what Jimmy had just said, looking even paler than usual.

'So you think Eleanor was my sister?' he said quietly – and, after a pause: 'My parents always spoke so highly of her. I was quite jealous growing up. She was the magical princess I would never know.' Another pause as Jimmy tried to give Thomas room to think. 'They were always sad on my birthday – I suppose I know why, now.'

'Well, we could be wrong,' Jimmy reminded him cautiously.

'Then we need to find out,' Thomas said.

Theo cut in, his sharp eyes darting between Thomas and Jimmy. 'Well, we could always look at the records of the local hospital. We know the day she died, so it shouldn't be that difficult.'

Thomas nodded. 'Let's do that then.' He checked his pocket watch. 'We have plenty of time.'

Thomas brooded during the bus journey; Jimmy risked touching his hand softly.

'Are you alright?'

Thomas shrugged. 'I'm not entirely sure.' He studied Jimmy. 'How long have you been playing the detective for?'

'Well, since we spotted your sister with Mrs Kennedy I've been trying to find things out.'

Thomas laughed; it was nice to hear even if the sound came out a bit strangled. 'You've been spending too much time around me. If there's a secret, you've got to find out what it is!'

'You've been a very bad influence in general, Mr Barrow,' Jimmy teased. Thomas raised his eyebrows in amusement.

The bus pulled up in Thirsk.

'So what, do we just knock on the door and ask if we can have a gander?' Jimmy said as soon as they were standing outside the little cottage hospital.

'There's this thing called stealth, Jimmy,' Theo said. 'Think about using it.'

'It'll be too suspicious,' Thomas agreed. 'Besides, they know me around here. I don't want it getting back to Downton that I've been acting odd.'

Theo glanced clandestinely through the window.

'It looks as though there's only a nurse there. The doctor will be visiting patients at this time of day and I doubt there's anyone else. I'll distract her. Tell her I'm writing a piece on village hospitals and flirt a bit.'

'You can flirt with women?' Thomas asked, looking doubtful.

'I'll have you know that I can flirt with a potted plant should the occasion arise!'

'Alright, then.'

While Theo distracted the young nurse, jotting things down on his notepad and throwing her the odd compliment, Thomas and Jimmy sneaked in the back door and into the doctor's office.

'That was easy,' Thomas muttered.

They searched everywhere: drawers, cupboards, in the desk and cabinets. Only the most recent deaths were recorded.

'There must be some sort of archive somewhere!' Jimmy said desperately.

Thomas nodded his agreement. 'There has to be a back room or attic where all the paperwork is kept.'

'Could you show me the herb garden?' Theo asked loudly from the other side of the door. 'I'm so frightfully interested in their properties.'

As soon as they were safely outside, Thomas went upstairs and Jimmy along the corridor in order to widen their search.

One door had voices on the other side and the clanging sound of pots: probably a kitchen. Jimmy avoided it.

The door at the end of the corridor opened to a room which contained shelves and shelves of ledgers and papers. It looked promising.

Jimmy eagerly worked along the musty tomes.

_Deaths 1889_

_That's it!_

Jimmy pulled the book from the shelf and leafed through the pages until he arrived at May.

_May 11__th__. Eleanor Barrow. _

_Cause of death: Complications during childbirth. Overseen by Midwife Harper._

Jimmy contemplated leaving the book behind but reasoned that these archives were probably never checked and Thomas needed to see this in writing for himself.

The door opened suddenly and Jimmy nearly had a heart attack.

It was only Thomas.

'I've found it,' he whispered quickly before Thomas could say anything, holding the book up.

Thomas nodded. 'Right, well, we better leave!'

Jimmy was shaking by the time they got out on the street. He wasn't used to doing things like this and he was mildly apprehensive of how calm Thomas seemed to be.

They waited on a bench in the park for Theo to join them. Thomas kept staring at his mother's death on the page like there might be something she could do about it.

Theo trotted out from the hospital, eyeing the book in Thomas' hands beadily.

'She died in childbirth,' Thomas said. His voice was flat and dead. 'She wasn't ill at all. He lied.'

'Maybe his Lordship didn't know,' Jimmy suggested. 'It would have been easier to tell the family that one of the maids was ill than…' He trailed off.

'This happened at Downton,' Thomas said; it was only just hitting him. 'She was taken advantage by some footman or hall boy when she was fifteen, and she dies while he walks away scot free?' His face darkened and he closed the book, gripping it tightly to his chest.

'Well, there's nothing you can do about it now?' Theo said pragmatically, impervious to Thomas' malevolent glare. 'Well, there isn't!'

'I can find out who did this to her – I can make him pay!' Thomas said.

Theo sighed and put a hand on Thomas' shoulder. 'Alright, calm down, Mr Vendetta! For one thing, I doubt whoever was working there thirty-five years ago is still working there now. That's not going to help you, is it? And do you want everyone in the Abbey to know your background? They're not going to be as sympathetic to Eleanor's plight as you are – they're going to assume that she was a…' He let the sentence dangle. It didn't need finishing. The twitch in Thomas' face showed that he was acutely aware of the words that Theo might have used. He looked like he might be about to punch him.

Wisely, Theo shifted away from Thomas.

'I think he's right,' Jimmy mumbled. He was as curious as Thomas to find out who his father was, but he couldn't stand the thought of what it might do to him. 'At least let it sink in before you decide to do anything.'

Thomas locked eyes with Jimmy beseechingly then slowly nodded, seeming to agree to let matters rest for now.


	18. Chapter 18

Jimmy supposed he should have been grateful that something came up to distract Thomas from wondering about his parentage: his letter from York Royal Theatre.

'York Royal Theatre?' Ivy said, reading the seal nosily as Carson passed it over to Jimmy.

'I've ordered tickets by post,' Jimmy explained quickly, his heart hammering. 'Going to see a play, aren't I?'

'What are you going to see?' she asked.

'That's my business, isn't it?' His voice was more waspish that it ought to have been but he was unable to control it; Ivy looked righteously affronted.

'And Daisy, this one's for you,' Carson said as though he had never been interrupted. 'It looks like Alfred's writing,' he added tactlessly.

Jimmy couldn't have opened the letter in front of everyone; he would rather have stripped naked and danced on the kitchen table. Thomas gave him an encouraging smile that he didn't have the strength to return.

'You look very cheerful, Mr Barrow,' Moseley pointed out obnoxiously.

'I'm a morning person,' Thomas said, his smile instantly falling away to contradict his point. 'Always have been.'

The letter was like a stone in Jimmy's mind: it rested there agonisingly for the full ten minutes before he was able to slip under Carson's radar and read it in peace.

Jimmy's eyes darted quickly over the words; he was too nervous to read properly. It took a while for the squiggly black symbols to rearrange themselves into comprehensible language.

In a daze, he folded the paper up, put in it pocket and got back to work.

He picked up a tray to take upstairs as though it were any other day, which, of course, it wasn't.

Everything had changed.

Thomas' hand carefully brushed against his in the hall, asking the question with his eyes.

'I haven't had a chance to read it yet,' Jimmy said – too quickly, because he always was a terrible liar. Thomas' nodded, believing.

* * *

'You look like you're thinking something important,' Daisy said. Jimmy had been so preoccupied that he wasn't even sure how it had ended up like that: just the two of them, Daisy drinking tea and looking curious. Thomas had already gone up but Jimmy didn't feel quite ready to join on him.

'I suppose it is important,' Jimmy said, knowing he could say something like that to Daisy and not have her hound him with rabid curiosity. The vague sensation that the polite thing to do was to show interest in Daisy's life nudged him.

'So, what did the old beanpole have to say for himself?' he asked.

Daisy shook her head reproachfully at the insult. 'He's doing so well.' She looked silent and troubled.

'Do you want to talk about it?' Jimmy asked tentatively, the sensitivity tasting odd in his mouth.

'It's only that Alfred's been talking a lot about how he's earning enough now to support a wife if he had a mind to take one – and he keeps complimenting me, saying I was better than he ever knew.'

'You think he's going to propose to you?' Jimmy asked. _Blimey, he'll propose to anyone who'll stand still long enough to be asked the question. I'm lucky to have escaped myself._

'Not right away,' Daisy admitted. 'But I think that might be what he's leading up to.'

Giving advice was most definitely not a skill Jimmy had ever cared to hone but he thought he ought to have a stab at it then.

'Well, you parted as friends, didn't you? You were happy to be his friend.'

'I am, but – life's not the easiest thing to live on your own. I keep thinking what it would be like if he _did_ ask me, and I moved to London. We'd start a little family.' She looked wistful enough to move even cynical Jimmy.

'The thing is,' Daisy continued slowly. 'I've spent the last year trying to forget about romance and thinking about my career. I could be a good head cook if I had the chance. Mrs Patmore's taught me everything she knows. But if he did ask—' she stopped and frowned at her tea here, daring to imagine a happy ending for once, an ending which she had stopped hoping would happen a long time ago. 'If it comes down to it, I'd choose the man I love over the job I love and it would be a lie to say otherwise. And I don't like to lie if it can be helped.'

'It's good you know your own mind,' Jimmy said.

'I think I do,' Daisy said.

'I think I know mine, too,' Jimmy said. 'Either way, I'll have to take the chance!'

'What do you mean by that?'

Jimmy grinned cheekily at her. 'Well, you aren't the only one with a love life!'

Daisy sighed and put her cup down dramatically. 'Don't you go leading Ivy on again. You know she takes it seriously!'

Jimmy just winked at her and excused himself for bed. As he had expected, Thomas was reading in bed, half-sitting up. He was wearing that thin, white shirt that clung to his chest in a way that, no matter how many times he saw it, made Jimmy disinclined to believe his own luck.

'Hello, beautiful,' Jimmy said, leaning back against the door.

Thomas turned a page deliberately. 'I thought we agreed that you were the beautiful one and I'm ruggedly gorgeous.'

Jimmy laughed. 'Rugged?'

Thomas glanced up from his book. 'Rugged in a polished way.' He tilted his head to one side. 'What took you so long to come upstairs?'

Jimmy shrugged, not moving from the door. He knew that if he went over to the bed there would be kissing which would lead to groping and fucking and probably sucking on various body parts, and that he would be asleep before he had a chance to talk.

'Just thinking.'

'About the letter? What did it say?' Thomas asked.

'They offered me the part,' Jimmy muttered to his shoes.

'That's wonderful!' Thomas' face lit up like the proverbial light bulb that Jimmy was so fond of.

'I'm not taking it,' Jimmy said quickly. His face was burning.

'What?' Thomas said, a little too loudly. He caught himself in alarm before setting his book aside and walking over to Jimmy. 'Why wouldn't you take it? It's your dream!'

'It is,' Jimmy said. To his absolute horror, all his intentions of explaining himself calmly and logically were melting away and his chest was starting to tighten. 'But if I have to choose between you and my dream, I choose you.'

Jimmy was expecting perhaps a reassuring hug, a tender kiss or something along those lines; he was not expecting a smack on the back of the head.

'Ow!'

'And who says you have to choose, you idiot,' Thomas told him. 'I'll wait for you – no matter how long, no matter where you go!'

'But we wouldn't be living together,' Jimmy said – although, rubbing his head, he was beginning to think that wouldn't be such a bad idea.

Thomas snorted in exasperation. 'We'll work things out. But I'm not having you give this up and then resent me for it in ten years' time. You need to be happy, Jimmy.'

'I'm happy with you.'

Thomas turned his head to one side, his jaw moving impatiently. 'I don't want you to use what we have as an excuse. I know you don't like change—'

'What makes you say that?' Jimmy snapped, mortally insulted. Why, he loved change! He was always up for an adventure, living the high life!

'That so? Why did you never go to France with Lady Anstruther?'

_Because I didn't know what it would be like. Because it was something different. Because after the war and my parents' death I wasn't sure of much, but I was sure that I didn't want anything to change again – I wanted safe and familiar and normal, something I could rely on._

Thomas cupped Jimmy's face in his hands and leant forward so that their foreheads touched.

'You're afraid of failing,' Thomas whispered and, for once in his life, Jimmy didn't have an excuse or a snappy retort; he nodded, moving their foreheads together. 'Don't be. I'll be here to catch you, just in case.' He pulled back a little. 'How long's the tour?'

'We start rehearsing in a month, then we're touring from November to January. So,' Jimmy said, 'you have five months to find something in London.'

'Sorry?'

'I mean it,' Jimmy told him seriously. 'You think I'm afraid of failing and I think you're a hypocrite. Time was when there wasn't anything you wouldn't do to get away from the place – but you're not fighting to get away any more, are you? Why are you still here?'

Thomas looked at him, curling his hands around Jimmy's shoulders tightly. 'You know why.'

'Because of me?' Jimmy challenged. 'Or because it's safe? There's no danger of being revealed here because they know already. You've forgotten that this is never what you wanted.'

Thomas kissed him – violently. It felt like a telling off, a harsh bite at the lips.

'So we'll leave together?' Jimmy asked, wonderstruck. This wasn't how he had expected the conversation to go but his brain was already inventing joyful scenarios of the two of them walking arm in arm through Hyde Park and Oxford Street. Well, perhaps arm in arm wouldn't be the wisest, but they could still go together.

Thomas nodded slowly. 'I'll start looking.'


	19. Chapter 19

'I can't act for toffee!' Jimmy said, hurling the offensive script which mocked his incompetence across the room.

'They wouldn't have given you the part if you couldn't act,' Thomas said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. He was lying perfectly relaxed on Jimmy's bed while Jimmy tried to learn as much as he could.

Jimmy picked up the script again and attacked his lines aloud with renewed vigour. Deciding that he sounded as though he were reading the newspaper, Jimmy threw the cursed script down again.

'Useless,' he muttered, clenching his fists.

'Well, that time wasn't very good, no,' Thomas agreed in spite of Jimmy's dangerously narrowed eyes.

'If you're not going to be helpful, you can go back to your own room,' Jimmy threatened.

'No, I'm smoking.'

'So? Finish your cigarette there!'

'I don't like my room getting smoky,' Thomas retorted, tapping ash onto Jimmy's bedside table.

'Charming,' Jimmy said, rolling his eyes.

Jimmy had had a stressful day. Although he'd been very tempted not to say anything to Mr Carson and disappear into the night à la O'Brien when the time came, if this performing thing went balls up (which Jimmy increasingly felt that it might do) he'd need a good reference to rely on. So he'd told Mr Carson that morning that he would like to leave at the end of the month.

Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad, except there was really no way of telling Mr Carson that he was going without telling him _where_ he was going.

'The stage?' Carson echoed with revulsion, clearly unable to comprehend why someone would want to leave a respectable job in service for the sort of frivolous, undignified career that he himself had strived to escape.

'It's not like it were in the old days,' Jimmy said unthinkingly.

Carson glowered. 'You're throwing away a career for a bit of fun, James. You're making a grave mistake, mark my words.'

_Maybe, but it's my mistake to make._

He stepped out of Mr Carson's office buoyed up by a heady rush of adrenaline. He'd done it – he'd actually handed in his notice and was leaving to act on the stage. It was a small part in a Yorkshire theatre company but it was a chance!

'Are you okay?' Daisy asked him as they passed in the corridor. 'You look like you're about to be sick.'

'I'm leaving Downton,' Jimmy said breathlessly, relishing the words.

She looked at him in alarm. 'What did you do wrong?'

'I wasn't sacked, I handed in my notice!' Jimmy corrected indignantly.

'Oh.' The confusion on her face riled Jimmy a little – why was Alfred's ambition encouraged and his condoned? 'Where are you going?'

'I've got a job as an actor,' Jimmy said proudly. He had a strange urge to cry. Since he was quite young, he'd say things like that to the mirror, imagining what it would be like to tell his parents or his friends or his employer.

Daisy looked sceptical. 'That's not a steady job, though. Aren't you worried about ending up on the street?'

He couldn't tell her that he had security, that he had it in the form of Thomas who was going to be the constant in his life, the thing he could always come back to, the thing which would anchor him if everything else became a mess. Instead, he gave his best cocky grin and said: 'No.'

'They're all shocked,' Jimmy told Thomas, who was still on his bed, his cigarette finished and his right arm hooked under his head as a makeshift pillow. 'They think I'm as mad as a hatter.'

'As mad as a hatter is the best way to be,' Thomas drawled. 'Don't let other people tell you how to live or your life will be a disaster.'

'You've always done what you wanted,' Jimmy said, putting an affectionate hand through Thomas' hair. 'Where did you get the strength from?'

'I was born awkward, darling, and I've been awkward ever since. Anyway, I find it difficult to believe that unattractive people matter, which makes it easy to ignore what they think.'

Jimmy laughed, his hand leaving Thomas' silky hair and trailing along his face, resting on his lips. Thomas kissed his fingertips, darting his tongue out to lick them.

'That's one way to handle them,' Jimmy agreed.

'It's one of my best life mottos,' Thomas said, grabbing Jimmy's hand suddenly and yanking it so that the younger man lost his balance and fell on top of him. 'Now, I have a sudden hankering to have something put where the sun don't shine. Reckon you could help me out?'

For days, the rest of the staff spoke about Jimmy behind his back, and sometimes right in front of his face. Apart from Ivy, who had graciously wished him luck and said she hoped he had a nice time in the theatre, most everyone viewed his actions as either ridiculous or downright stupid.

_If Alfred had confessed his ambition to be a famous actor instead of a cook, you'd all be over the moon for him!_ Jimmy thought viciously. _I'm sick of not being liked around here!_

They only stopped talking about him when Anna provided a distraction by coming in to visit everyone, new baby in tow.

'His name's John,' Anna said. She looked ill and tired but radiated an obvious happiness.

'Of course it is,' Thomas muttered quietly to Jimmy. 'We really needed another John Bates in the world. And this one can't walk either!'

Jimmy fought to keep his face straight. Still, he had to admit that the baby was a nice-looking thing: it mostly slept, occasionally making soft gurgling sounds and generally looking clean and pink.

'Well, he's just divine,' Mrs Hughes said when it was her turn to hold him, and even Mr Carson's stony exterior melted at the sight of the child. The butler, to the general astonishment of the room, seemed to have quite a knack with babies.

'They keep this up and they'll give it a halo to match its father's,' Jimmy muttered back to Thomas as the under butler was leaving the room to 'work'.

The women present asked a lot of very knowing questions about sleeping habits and feeding, or at least they seemed knowing to Jimmy's clueless ears, considering none of them had any children.

'He's a little angel,' Anna said dotingly when asked about being woken up all night. At that point, Jimmy felt the need to excuse himself.

It was all so predictable and mundane and Jimmy felt unreasonably angry that he would never be in that situation.

_The happy couple and everyone's so pleased for them!_

He darted into the boot room to hide from Carson, who was bound to flush him out and make him do some actual work sooner or later. Thomas, it appeared, had the same idea; he was reading a newspaper with a rather shifty expression on his face.

'What is it?' Jimmy immediately asked.

Thomas held the newspaper up so Jimmy could see the front cover.

'That's not local, it's a London paper,' Jimmy said, frowning.

'Which is where we're hoping to live, isn't it?' Thomas said. 'I'm looking for jobs.'

Jimmy put his arms around Thomas' waist from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder so that he could read the paper, too. 'Anything interesting?'

'There's one which looks promising. Butler at Chortley Place in Westminster. It's smaller than Downton but I'd be head of the household.'

'Sounds good,' Jimmy said, tightening his grip slightly.

Unfortunately, Carson found where they were hiding, barging through the door a millisecond after Jimmy and Thomas had leapt apart, and shooed them away, giving them both very suspicious looks.

'This is no time to be shirking your duties!' Carson told them angrily. Jimmy would have dearly liked to ask when _was_ a good time for shirking duties. 'Not with the house party in a few days' time!'

'Another house party,' Thomas muttered as Jimmy and Moseley set to work polishing every useless item that the Abbey had amassed over hundreds of years. 'They've only just come back from London!' He sauntered off to do some more 'overseeing'.

They polished in near silence for a while, Jimmy happily imagining himself bowing graciously in front of a standing ovation. After a while, however, he noticed that the silence on Moseley's end was rather dour and his face had fallen into that self-pitying mournfulness which came so naturally to it.

'What's the matter with you, then?' Jimmy asked.

'Nothing, nothing, really,' Moseley answered with a sigh which came from the depths of his soul. 'I have no right to complain about my lot.'

'Alright then, don't,' Jimmy said cheerfully.

Unfortunately, Moseley interpreted that as a signal to keep on talking. 'I have a secure job and that's what most people can say. I've always known that a life in service meant being able to marry and I never minded until now.'

Jimmy looked at him with interest. 'You want to marry Miss Baxter?'

Moseley looked down at his hands, stuttering and looking modest. 'No, no – I mean, I'd like to, obviously – she's a wonderful woman. But that's not the life for me and I know it. And I'm too old to start a different sort of career now.'

'Why can't you marry and stay on?' Jimmy asked. 'Mr Bates does!'

'Yes, but an exception was made for Mr Bates and I respect that,' Moseley said.

'But why?' Jimmy asked. 'Why are exceptions made and rules bent for him?'

Moseley didn't have an answer to that; the pace of his polishing slowed as he ruminated on the question.

'_Carpe Diem_, Moseley,' Jimmy told him with an hearty clap on the back.

Moseley frowned. 'What have fish got to do with it?'

Jimmy sighed and looked forward to the day when he would surround himself with cultured theatre-folk and not semi-literate philistines.

_A.N The Carpe Diem joke is inspired by the Buffy 'fish of the day joke'._


	20. Chapter 20

The house party was more crowded than they'd thought it would be; Jimmy watched aristocrat after aristocrat swan up to the front doors with growing dismay. However, he had to admit that it was worth it to watch the Dowager Countess try and hide her alarm at Lady Rose's friends' perilously short skirts and glitzy feather boas.

'Rose is trying to turn Downton into a nightclub,' Lady Mary told her grandmother dryly.

'But we mustn't give them the satisfaction of thinking us scandalised,' the Dowager answered.

Jimmy had been worried that the practicalities of coping with such a large number of guests would cause Carson to blow a gasket, when in reality it filled him with the closest thing to joy Jimmy had ever seen the butler experience.

'It's like the days before the war,' Carson told Mrs Hughes contentedly. 'I was apprehensive about what the twenties had in store for Downton, but I'm glad to know that the old days aren't over yet!' He looked as proud as though Downton were his.

'You might be glad,' Mrs Hughes retorted. 'You've not got all the guest bedrooms to sort out.'

'It's not an easy ride for the men of the house either,' Carson said a little indignantly. 'I, as well as Mr Barrow, Mr Moseley and James, will have to act as valet to the visiting gentleman! We're not having an easy time of it.'

That reminded James that he had been designated the Viscount Hereford to look after. In spite of the fact that they were supposedly superior and deserving of respect, Jimmy always found it amusing that rich people were spoken of as thought they were babies. They needed feeding, bathing, dressing and general looking-after, or else they were apt to throw a tantrum.

Carson had shown Jimmy to the Viscount earlier, presenting him as though he were a commodity rather than a person.

'James will be looking after you during your stay,' Carson had said to the sharp-eyed, wiry gentleman who looked more like a business tycoon than a peer. Jimmy nodded his head respectfully and said nothing while the man appraised him.

Carson dismissed Jimmy, telling him that Lord Hereford's crate-like suitcases needed to be taken up to the Blue Room.

Thomas passed him in the corridor, massaging his hands, grinning at Jimmy as they neared each other. 'What's yours like?'

'Sort of severe-looking and a bit grey. Yours?'

'Built like Henry VIII – probably impossible to dress,' Thomas said, raising a weary eyebrow. With a glance about, he grabbed Jimmy's wrist and leant in. 'Meet me in the courtyard later, just before the gong.'

* * *

'So what is it that you wanted me for?' Jimmy asked. He'd managed to dart out quickly and snag a few cheeky minutes, still holding his tray.

Thomas was leaning against the brick wall, his cigarette arm hanging downwards. He was smiling a sweet, secret smile that even Jimmy rarely got to see; he was forcibly reminded of the time Thomas had taken a beaten for him and they had talked afterwards, Thomas beaming from the centre of his soul when Jimmy had agreed to be friends. Of course, he wasn't really agreeing to friendship, they had both known that. When Jimmy had said 'I can manage that' he'd really meant that he could manage to forgive him for the unfortunate kiss. They were agreeing to start again.

'Come and look at the stars,' Thomas said, fitting Jimmy neatly under his arm. 'Look how clear they are tonight.'

'You're so terribly romantic,' Jimmy said with only a light touch of sarcasm. 'But what's this actually about?'

'You know what tonight is?'

Jimmy frowned, thought and shook his head.

Thomas tutted impatiently and laced his fingers with Jimmy, leading him around the side where the view of them was obscured.

'Are my handjobs really so forgettable?' Thomas hissed salaciously in Jimmy's ear. 'One year ago today!'

Jimmy could have smacked himself. He ought to have remembered – but then, how could he? He could hardly remember a year ago; it seemed to him a different lifetime and he a different man.

'We've been together a year?' Jimmy asked, dazed.

'I'm not sure whether the early days counted as "together",' Thomas said lightly, cupping Jimmy's face with his hands. 'But it's been a year, yes. Any regrets?'

'What do you think?' Jimmy asked, pulling Thomas in for a kiss, claiming the other man's mouth. He was passionate and unreserved; the difference between that moment and how he had acted a year previous couldn't have been starker. He had been so afraid of desire back then, terrified of intimacy – terrified, in fact, of himself.

'At the risk of sounding soppy,' Jimmy breathed. 'I think you're the best thing that's ever happened to me.'

'Of course I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you,' Thomas agreed, running his hand over the front of Jimmy's trousers.

'What are you doing?' Jimmy asked, stifling a moan. 'I need to go back inside or Carson will have my guts for garters.'

Thomas snickered. 'Live a little!'

'No, I don't think that's a very – oh, God, you bastard!' Jimmy closed his eyes as Thomas' hand found its way inside his trousers. 'Be bloody quick about it, then!'

Thomas undid the first few buttons of Jimmy's shirt roughly and pushed it to the side so that he could suck on his shoulder, bruising the skin; his hand slid further down, into Jimmy's underwear now, his palm gliding along Jimmy's head far too gently Jimmy snatched at Thomas' hand impatiently, forcing it to close properly on his erection.

Jimmy let out a soft whimper and bucked his hips, nudging himself into Thomas' soft palm, rubbing into the lifelines. His lover watched, enjoying the scene and allowing himself to be used. Jimmy's mouth parted wantonly and he moaned slightly louder than necessary, watching Thomas' pupils dilate in response.

'James! Are you out here?' Mr Carson barked. His voice did nothing for Jimmy's libido.

Thomas raised an eyebrow and stepped back, sadly taking his hand with him. 'You're needed.'

Jimmy buttoned up his trousers, cursing, and held his tray in front of him to hide his already dying erection.

He rounded the corner. 'Sorry, Mr Carson, I was, er, smoking.'

Bowing his head to receive Carson's stern tongue-lashing, he clutched his tray to his front and hoped his body would calm down soon.

'… and never make me remind you again!' Mr Carson finished, marching Jimmy into the kitchen where cocktails were ready to go up.

Jimmy circled the large party with his trayful of multi-coloured drinks, looking as handsome and unobtrusive as he could and ignoring the sly winks Thomas was giving him whenever they met. The gramophone reappeared at some point, playing songs in the background; judging from Lady Mary's expression, it was still haunted by the ghost of Mr Matthew. Not surprisingly, Jimmy's drinks disappeared rather quickly; they were a great favourite with Rose's fashionable London friends. Taking his cue from Carson's eyebrows, Jimmy went to get more.

Jimmy opened the baize door and blinked in shock. Lady Rose and one of her fashionable London gentleman friends were intertwined dramatically, kissing with almost pretentious enthusiasm.

_God, I hope Thomas and I don't look that disgusting,_ was Jimmy's first thought, quickly followed by _Crikey, is that is hand up her dress?_

Jimmy cleared his throat pointedly and the writhing couple leapt apart as though an electric current had run through them. 'This isn't the best of hiding places, my lady,' Jimmy said as tactfully as he could. 'Servants come through here all the time.'

'Thank you, James,' Lady Rose said, but her gentleman admirer was already making his excuses to get back to the party, mortified.

'Ugh,' Rose complained, leaning limply against the wall. She didn't much have the strict poise of most aristocratic ladies; her shoulders slumped and she fidgeted. 'You won't say anything, will you?' she said, flashing Jimmy a winning smile.

'It seems like I'm becoming your official secret-keeper, my lady,' Jimmy said, daring to let a teasing tone enter his voice. It was hard not to relax around Lady Rose and take liberties.

She sighed in relief. 'Thank you. You're an angel.' She whipped a cigarette out of her little bag and lit it. 'God, I miss London! I hate not having anything to do up here, bored to tears with old codgers from ancient families talking about tractors.'

'And he was something to do?' Jimmy asked without the least trace of judgement.

'You could say that,' she agreed, eyes twinkling. 'I'd never want to marry him, but he's a good kisser – and good with his hands,' she added, smirking. 'But I can't pretend to be in love. Not like you obviously are.'

Jimmy opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to figure out what to say. 'How do you mean?'

'Oh, stop it,' she teased. 'I've seen how much happier you've been than you were when I first came here.' She raised her eyebrows. 'And in my experience there's only one thing that makes a man that happy. What's her name?' Meaningful pause. 'If, that is, it's a _her_.'

The caught-out expression on Jimmy's face must have confirmed her suspicions because she giggled knowingly. 'Lucky fellow!'

Feeling it pointless to deny, Jimmy asked: 'How did you know?'

'Just an idea – I run in modern circles, after all. I have friends I could introduce you to if you fancied a change of scenery,' she offered, half-joking.

'No, thank you,' Jimmy responded quickly. 'I'm quite happy with… my current situation,' he finished, finding that he didn't quite have the heart to spell it out in front of Lady Rose. 'But nobody else knows?'

She shook her head, considering. 'I don't think so. Nobody's said anything, not like they do with Barrow.' Her eyes lit up suddenly. 'My God, is it him? Is it Barrow?'

Jimmy stared at the floor, bright red. It was without a shadow of a doubt the most bizarre conversation he had ever had. 'Perhaps. The family talks about him?'

'Well, not all the time. But occasionally, if there's a particularly handsome guest, Mary'll say that Barrow will be pleased or something like that. But now he has you,' she said sentimentally. 'And I think that's lovely.'

Jimmy envied her world view. She was naïve enough to think that people who loved each other ought to be together.

'You won't tell them, will you?' Jimmy asked nervously. He didn't like the thought of becoming idle gossip for the family – or of being fired if Carson caught wind of what was going on.

'Secret's safe with me,' she promised. 'We are quite indebted to each other!'

Leaving her to finish her cigarette, Jimmy went to fetch more drinks before Carson came to investigate his lengthy absence.


End file.
